The Transformation of Lukas Farber
by QuantumSheep
Summary: An MNU engineer is caught in a web of conspiracy and unwittingly finds himself becoming the last hope for the freedom of the nonhumans in the districts.
1. Prologue Part I

**Prologue:**

**Special Cargo  
**Several miles north of Pretoria, South Africa  
June 2nd, 2013  
0250 Hours

The open savannah was eerily quiet, broken only by the sound of the cool breeze rustling through the long grass or the occasional call of a nocturnal animal. A mostly dirt highway winded across the landscape and provided a scenic route across the country of South Africa, one that many tourists had taken over the many years of its existence as a direct result of this. Savannah and hills spread out on either side of the highway, with plenty of dry long grass and many trees taking up most of the surrounding landscape. If one was lucky they may have been able to sight some local animals, something that would have excited tourists but was of no concern to the people travelling along the highway now.

The darkness was illuminated above by the vast array of stars and the half moon that hung up high. The stars became more scattered and less frequent as one neared a population centre like Pretoria, the many city lights there only dimming the light of the stars above.

Nights would out in the countryside would often by dark and quite atmospheric, tranquil even. This quiet ambient mood was spoiled when several pairs of headlights broke into the gloom and the faint rumble of engines began to fill the vicinity. Some nesting birds were frightened out of trees and some surprised animals either roared, growled, ran away or carried out a combination of the three.

The convoy of vehicles consisted of two trucks and four armoured personnel carriers. Each of the vehicles wore the insignia of MNU (Multinational United) while the four armoured personnel carriers were painted in the favourite bright authoritative white that the MNU Corporation put on all of their vehicles. In the darkness the vehicles stood out against the darkened backdrop, the headlight beams simply making the presence of the vehicles even more noticeable.

One of the trucks was a flatbed yet on its back something large and almost cylindrical in size was laid out on its rear. The object was secured underneath a black tarpaulin while a pair of armed MNU mercenaries sat near it, one of whom was calmly smoking a cigarette whilst resting his rifle in his lap. The object would have been cylindrical in shape if it wasn't for the many smooth curves and bumps that implied that it was a rather complicated item in its design. It was perhaps two and a half metres in length and a metre wide, yet none of the mercenaries could be sure since the item was covered with the black tarp. The black tarp seemed the type that would be used to hide sensitive things from view, a presumption that was amplified by the fact that all of the mercenaries had been ordered to not touch the tarp and the object being kept underneath. All of them knew that MNU had its secrets yet all of them knew that it wasn't their business to find out what.

Within each of the armoured personnel carriers were about half a dozen mercenaries that had since sold their services to MNU's large hired force. MNU had a large amount of mercenaries and equipment at its disposal and had since managed to make an army that would have rivalled any of the armies of the most powerful nations on the planet. Of course, with an army that consisted of mostly hired mercenaries and rent-a-cops there would be discipline problems. In past years the MNU heads had started training their own personal armies much to the chagrin of the world's nations but being a large global-spanning corporation they could more or less get away with it. The days of the MNU mercenary were numbered it seemed, but even Patrick McDougall was confident that there would always be a need for mercenaries.

Patrick was about thirty-seven with close-cut brown hair, eyes with a matching colour to that hair and somewhat well-chiselled features. He was from Ireland and had spent some years in his home nation's military before a brawl with an officer had cost him his career. Now he had decided to sell out his services as a mercenary and as a result had ended up working with MNU. He had been expecting to more or less play the role of a security guard, protecting the corporation's investments wherever he had been sent.

Things had started off like that until recently. After MNU had weaselled its way out of the trials in court it had been forced to do to answer for its crimes of illegal genetics research (Patrick didn't care much about the details) it seemed that the corporation had become increasingly paranoid. Not only had there been an influx of their hired mercenaries into South Africa over the last couple of years but Patrick had been among them, dragged from his rather comfortable position guarding an MNU warehouse in London in order to be flown all the way down to South Africa.

Patrick knew just as well as anybody else who hadn't been living under a rock for the past few years that there had been trouble in South Africa and that it had been growing at an alarming rate. Patrick had always figured that MNU's treatment of the aliens (or "prawns" as most people referred to them) would have eventually gotten them into trouble and this assumption had been proven correct back in 2010: This had been when that whole illegal genetics research business came up. Not only that but Patrick was pretty sure there had been numerous deaths involved and that some prawn had managed to escape Earth in the ship that had spent since the early 1980s suspended over Johannesburg. Ever since that fiasco MNU had been ravaged by both the public and the governments of some of the world's most powerful nations, being deemed as an "irresponsible" and "inhuman" organization that only cared for its own interests. Still MNU stayed in operation despite its public image receiving a severe blow. And still MNU kept most of the alien "prawns" locked up in District 10 like second-class citizens and thus received plenty of bad press about it. Where were the equal rights for the prawns and the equal treatment?

Patrick cared little for corporation politics. He was a mercenary and was the type of apparent no-good "in it for the money" sort of mercenary who only looked forward to his next pay-check and little else. Being sent to South Africa in order to help repress the growing prawn insurgency was only a slight inconvenience to him.

He had seen it coming ever since MNU was put in charge of the welfare of the prawns in the 1980s. Sure, he had only been young back then and had watched in awe as did everyone else on the planet when first contact was made with the alien "prawns". However, as soon as the prawns were forced into District 9's slums he had seen coming what was happening now: discontent. MNU had made sure to make the prawns out to be stupid and reckless and definitely not deserving of freedom on Earth in the propaganda campaigns but Patrick knew better. He also knew that if one group oppressed another there was going to be some sort of rebellion. He was from Ireland, he would know.

His grandfather had always rambled on about the British and how they were oppressing the Irish people (his grandfather had been "old school" to say the least). Patrick's father had been a terrrorist of sorts man, participating in more than one street shootout with the "oppressive" British forces. There was going to be discontent in any circumstance where one group greatly oppressed another. Wasn't there discontent everywhere?

The influx of hired mercenary forces into South Africa was an apparent security precaution. The prawns were getting organized, especially in recent months when attacks had escalated and the whole country had been put in a state of emergency. There were many theories being thrown around (just tune into any talk show on television) and many awkward questions being tossed to and fro as well. How were they getting organized? Who was organizing them? And if they were so stupid how come the prawns knew how to blow up a power station or oil refinery or some other important part of society's infrastructure? And how could they be operating out of District 10 (which was more or less the equivalent of a concentration camp)?

There were plenty of theories, some completely outlandish and some not. Some had suggested that the prawns were increasing the frequency of their strikes against the humans in preparation for an all-out attack, one that many seemed to think was on its way since the ship left Johannesburg. Or maybe there were human sympathisers organizing the prawns, a theory that was supported by the fact that most of the attacks had been carried out against MNU assets and not general public ones (although some of those still occurred).

Patrick sat in the passenger section of one of the armoured personnel carriers, his mind brimming with thoughts about the current state of South Africa and why he was here. He was outfitted in the standard grey and black MNU mercenary gear including a Kevlar vest and combat fatigues. A Vektor CR21 rifle was resting on his lap while a personal radio was strapped to a spot on his vest close to his left shoulder. Currently the airwaves were silent since radio silence had been ordered for this particular operation.

The operation was apparently a movement operation; one that Patrick had had no choice in whether to go on or not. The orders had come through at about midnight and he and plenty of his mercenary friends had been woken up and told to prepare. The escalating insurgent actions had been enough of an excuse for the squad to go out in full combat gear, rifles and Kevlar vests and all.

According to what they had all been told there was an important item that needed to be moved from MNU headquarters and into Zimbabwe. The reasons why had not been disclosed nor had information concerning the nature of the item they were escorting. Patrick could only wonder why they had been woken up in the dead of the night to do it. Surely this sort of straightforward operation could have been done a lot more easily in the morning?

Patrick knew better than to ask a lot of questions. His job here was to escort the cargo and ensure that it arrived at its destination south of Bulawayo (in Zimbabwe) safely. The obvious implication was that there would be trouble, hence why so many mercenaries including Patrick had been put as the escort for the truck carrying the cargo. There was the slightly less obvious but still plausible implication that the prawn insurgents would try something and possibly either take or destroy the special cargo. Patrick doubted anything would happen, especially since they were miles from District 10 and any prawns.

Seated inside the armoured personnel carrier were five other mercenaries, each of them outfitted in standard MNU combat gear. Most were tired from having been woken up in the dead of the night and made to escort the special cargo and as a result none of the five were really talkative. The self-styled leader of the group, Major Heckler, sat across from Patrick and was casually puffing on a cigar while occasionally glancing at the others with his usual serious gaze.

Major Heckler was your standard ex-military man, someone who had had a successful military career in South Africa's armed forces before he had grown somewhat discontented over the obvious control MNU had over the nation's military. So, rather than have his career restricted by MNU advisors he had decided to resign and had then sold his services to the very organization that had been keeping him down all of these years. Someone like Heckler would have been a Colonel by now if it hadn't been for MNU's interference.

Heckler had close-cut greying hair and carefully trimmed sideburns. His dull blue eyes brought with them a serious "no nonsense" look as they carefully regarded each of the six mercenaries seated within the armoured personnel carrier before returning to the empty patch of wall in between Patrick and Kelley (Kelley being the slightly chubby thirty-two year old with dark hair seated on Patrick's right). The Major continued to stare at that patch of metal wall with great interest but the look in his eyes made it clear that his mind was far from here. Major Heckler was perhaps the only member of the group that did not look tired and annoyed for having been woken up in the dead of the night. Instead, he seemed to be taking the opportunity to think long and hard about…well, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. None of them could read minds, unfortunately.

Kelley had a pair of headphones on and an MP3 player in a pocket on his vest. From the faint noises Patrick could hear coming from the headphones it sounded like Kelley was listening to some fairly standard hip hop song, full of fast talking and near incomprehensible lyrics.

"It's quiet," Heckler said suddenly. The others looked at him but soon lost interest, returning to dwelling in their own thoughts. Heckler frowned and shook his head.

"If there's one thing I hate it's complete silence," Heckler said, his voice edged with a tone of sheer annoyance, "where's the life in you people anyway? I feel as if I'm sitting with a bunch of fucking zombies."

One of the mercenaries laughed.  
"The only zombie here is you, boss," the mercenary said.

Heckler raised an eyebrow, raising one inquisitive eyebrow in the process.

"How so?"

The mercenary (Turgidson his name was, at least Patrick thought this was the mercenary's name) seemed a little nervous all of a sudden, managing a weak smile as Heckler's cruel examining gaze found its way onto him.

"Well, uh…you've been staring at that wall for a while now," Turgidson replied, sounding keen to end the conversation as quickly as possible, "you looked like you were in some sort of a trance, as if that wall got you hypnotized or somethin'…"

Heckler shook his head, keeping his expression neutral yet his dull blue eyes still carried that cruel examining gaze.

"I've been thinking," Heckler replied, "and thinking is something you morons don't seem to do a hell of a lot…"

There was some laughter from a few members of the group, Patrick included. Sure, the Major was insulting their intelligence but he did it in a light-hearted and somewhat amusing fashion.

"I've been thinking about what's on that truck," Major Heckler said, "sure, I'm not in a position to ask questions and neither are any of you. Hell, we're just here to look good and get paid by those idiots who run the corporation…"

Some more slight and subdued laughter followed. They all knew of the sheer inaction that their jobs in MNU brought and how they seemed to get paid for sitting around while making it look like they were protecting MNU's assets. None of them could care much for MNU's assets and were only in it for the healthy pay-check. They were mercenaries after all.

"Still, there's something that doesn't quite add up," Heckler continued, pausing in order to puff on his cigar again. He pulled it out of his mouth with one hand, puffing a few small wispy clouds of smoke that wafted towards the ceiling of the armoured personnel carrier's ceiling. It faded from view as it dissipated within the air of the passenger cabin yet it left the smell of smoke on all six men's nostrils.

"Think about it for a second…that is, if any of your pint-sized brains can handle the strain," Heckler said, "We're a bunch of no-good mercenaries, hired by the corporation to do its dirty work. They screw up and we're the ones who have to clean up the mess they leave. We're not paid to ask questions, we're paid to follow orders. What I don't get is why they dragged us out of our beds in the dead of the night to escort some truck out into the desert. Does anybody else see a problem or two with this? I wouldn't be surprised if I was the only one who saw the problem since I'm the only one in this group who has any sort of intelligence…"

Patrick was the only one to respond. His voice carried that slight twang of an Irish accent but during the time he had spent outside of his home country it had since diminished into a mere background quality to his voice. It might have been the last tie he had to Ireland and if so he would have preferred it to go as well.

"There's a problem," Patrick replied bluntly. The armoured personnel carrier bounced over a pothole in the dirt road and the whole frame of the vehicle jumped suddenly, shaking everyone inside the passenger cabin and sending a resounding _clunk!_ throughout the interior.

"Fuck Pat, you're damn good at stating the obvious," Heckler replied, lacking any sort of humour even when it was obvious he was making a crack at Patrick's intelligence. The Major was always like this, making it hard for someone to determine whether he was joking or not.

Patrick continued nonplussed.

"I see the point you're making, boss," he continued, "What could be so important that we have to get off our asses in the middle of the night to escort? We're in for a hell of a long drive if we're headed for Zimbabwe, of all places…"

"Damn right Pat," Heckler said, nodding in agreement, "I'm thinking that maybe this 'special cargo' is something those corporation morons only thought of moving at the last minute. It's probably the sort of item that merely fell on their laps and it's hot enough for them to want to get rid of it as soon as possible. Either that or there's the risk of someone pulling a stunt in order to get it…"

"What do you mean?" Turgidson asked this question and the worry was clear in his voice.

Heckler rolled his eyes, unimpressed with Turgidson's sheer thick headedness.

"I mean with all the shit those prawns have been stirring up lately it seems safe to think that MNU wants to get rid of some more 'sensitive' items," Heckler replied, "items that may be of some interest to the dumbass aliens, especially since it's pretty damn clear that somebody's getting the fuckers organized. Who? I don't know. Nor do I give a shit. It's probably some humans, or 'prawn sympathisers' or alien rights activists who are doing it. Those aliens have been getting all sorts of guns and equipment from whoever's organizing them, whether it be aforementioned prawn sympathisers or someone else, whoever it is. As I believe, 'give a man a gun and he'll think he's invincible'. Obviously the prawns are stupid enough to believe this, judging from what's been happening lately. When a shootout starts they're like fucking fodder."

The mercenaries nodded. The prawns were often reckless in their attacks and almost stupidly confident, even when faced with insurmountable odds. They never surrendered regardless of the odds they were up against. Most people thought they were too stupid to surrender but there were some who had theorized that maybe the prawns believed in what they were fighting for. This all went back to whoever was getting them organized, something that seemed to have gotten MNU worried enough for the corporation to order operations like this. Moving a special cargo out of the country in the dead of the night? Definitely something secretive going on there.

"From what I've heard of this insurgency bullshit it seems the prawns are getting hold of all sorts of stuff, including some of those excellent alien guns that the corporation was so interested in a few years back," Heckler continued, "sure, maybe they confiscated most of them but now they're flowing back onto the market and into the hands of prawns themselves. I'm afraid boys that Kevlar vests do little against a lancing beam of energy…"

"You've seen them fired?" Turgidson asked, his eyes widening.

Heckler nodded slowly, taking a moment to think back on the memories that went with these past experiences. Very few people had seen the alien weapons in action since most were in MNU's possession or in the possession of the Nigerian cartel that had once had a strong foothold in District 9. The alien weapons were only able to be used by someone with the DNA of a prawn, hence why they were absolutely useless in the hands of a human. MNU's genetic research had been meaning to find a way to counteract this little flaw but after the court cases in late 2010 they had been forced to abandon this research.

"Seen them fired?" Heckler laughed. "Sure I have. I was even shot at once. Damned lucky it missed me…" He noticed that all eyes inside the armoured personnel carrier were trained on him. He had caught everyone's attention by the look of it.

"This beam of like…well, it was like energy or something…It just zipped its way through the air and blew a hole in the wall near me. Damned lucky that it didn't hit _me_ since it would have blown me to pieces." Heckler frowned, noticing the few disbelieving gazes the other mercenaries were displaying toward shim.

"I'm not bullshitting," Heckler added in his usual serious tone, "I'll have you know that I was actually part of a large scale firefight a few years back. And it was a damned exciting one. Shit, it's the only action I've seen in my years working for this corporation."

"Firefight?" Patrick frowned. "The only one I can remember hearing about from a few years back was…"  
"Was the one in District 9," Heckler finished, keeping his expression level and tone serious, "yeah, that's the one. I was there. You could say I was the only survivor…"

"As if," Kelley interjected, taking the headphones off of his ears, "you weren't there. All the MNU guys involved in that particular shootout got killed. As I recall, there was some sort of alien mech unit going on the rampage."

Heckler frowned, annoyed. Patrick didn't know what to believe and so simply remained silent, letting Major Heckler continue with whatever story he had to tell without interrupting.

"I'm not bullshitting," Heckler replied in a blunt manner, "I was there. I managed to get myself out of the shootout before I ended up dead like the others…"

"In other words, you ran away?" Turgidson was the one to ask this question and he immediately received a mean-spirited look from Major Heckler. Patrick could tell that the Major was now pissed off.

"You calling me a coward, fuck-face?" Heckler asked, delivering it as more of a rhetorical question than anything else.

Turgidson recoiled, a look of anxiety crossing his face. He simply smiled sheepishly.

"No, I wasn't calling you a coward, boss…"

"And make sure you don't," Heckler added, prodding Turgidson with one finger in the gut. Turgidson almost jumped from his seat in fright while Heckler regarded him with some noticeable dislike. "Because I don't like taking shit from dumbasses like you, you got that?"

Turgidson nodded, shifting further and further into the corner of the passenger cabin as Heckler grabbed him and held him forcefully at the sides. Patrick and the others watched on with only slight amusement as Heckler gave a mean and unnerving glare towards Turgidson who in turn looked like he was bordering on shitting himself. Major Heckler could be an intimidating man, a fact that was not lost on any of the mercenaries within the passenger cabin with him.

Heckler let the ever tensing Turgidson go and shifted himself back into his original spot, taking a puff on his cigar as if nothing had ever happened.

"As I was saying," Heckler continued whilst looking around at Patrick and the other mercenaries, "I was the only survivor of the battle in District 9 and I'm proud of that title. And I was no coward either. I was far from it, in fact." He showed a slight hint of pride for only a brief instant but it was soon gone again. Patrick didn't know whether to believe him or not but Heckler certainly wasn't one to lie. Then again it was near impossible to work out whether Heckler was being serious about something or not.

The armoured personnel carrier continued to trundle along the uneven dirt road as it wounds its way across the countryside as part of a six vehicle convoy. There were only two windows in the vehicle and they were small, positioned in the rear of the vehicle and provided only limited views of what was outside. Currently they were filled with darkness and the faint illumination of the stars from outside. The interior was cooped and confined to say the least, although there was a periscope that could be used to provide a three-hundred and sixty degree view of the vehicle's surroundings.

"I faced down the alien mech unit with rifle in hand and a badass frown on my face," Heckler continued, his voice taking on a much prouder tone as he continued. Now Patrick could tell he was making it up but he seemed to have all the others believing him so Patrick decided to listen and play along as well.

"And shot the fucker I did," Heckler said, "not that bullets had much of an effect. Still, I was so damn courageous I emptied a whole magazine into it. And then I turned around and started running as beams of energy blasted into the ground near my feet…It was a wild rush and certainly beat anything I had faced before…Did I ever tell you about that time that I killed a dozen prawns single-handedly using a knife?"

Patrick lost interest in Heckler's increasingly bullshit anecdotes. Instead he returned to pondering his own thoughts, taking in the obvious suspicious circumstances that came with this operation. What sort of special cargo needed to be moved out of the country in the dead of the night anyway?

Heckler continued with his story, taking on a rambling tone as he did. He seemed to be enjoying himself, making motioning gestures with his hands as he imitated swinging a combat knife.

"They all came at me at once they did," Heckler said, swinging his right hand in a knife-like slicing motion, "but I cut the first few up before they could get close to me. And by that time the rest had me surrounded so not only did I slice and dice my way through the bastards but I had to kick and bunch and elbow and bite…" He paused, noticing that everyone but Patrick seemed rather interested in his story.

"Any of you morons ever tasted prawn?" Heckler asked, frowning, "I hear it's a delicacy among those Nigerian gangsters. And hell, as I was saying I even had to bite a few of the fuckers to get out of a tight spot…"

"I've tasted prawn boss," Turgidson suddenly said. Everyone looked at him and he immediately shrank back into his seat. "You know…on seafood platters…"

Heckler rolled his eyes whilst shaking his head. To him Turgidson was nothing more than a halfwit.

"No you dumbass…'prawn' prawn, as in _alien_ prawn," Heckler said, the annoyance clear in his voice, "I'm talking about the aliens, not the little red things that you get on platters at Christmas lunches. Those things are a mess to eat anyway, what with you having to peel away the outer shell and toss it away…and then, if they're not cooked properly they're all gooey and shit…" He paused again, thinking about this before looking towards Patrick.

"Hey, Pat, you ever tasted prawn?" Heckler asked, raising an eyebrow.

Patrick hadn't been quite paying attention and so looked up, caught off-guard by the sudden question that had been sent his way. Heckler was looking at him expectantly, awaiting an answer.

"Uh…what?"

"Earth to Pat," Heckler said mockingly, waving at Patrick yet keeping a straight face, "I'm talking to you and I asked you a question and so I'll repeat it: You ever tasted prawn?"

"I can't say that I have…" Before Patrick could finish his answer Heckler had interrupted him, merely brushing aside Patrick's response as if it didn't matter.

"Good, because it's fucking terrible," Heckler replied before he regarded the group as a whole again. Once more the armoured personnel carrier bounced over an uneven section of the road, shaking the whole frame of the vehicle while bouncing the occupants somewhat violently in their seats.

"I don't know how the Nigerians stomach the stuff," Heckler continued, "it tastes worse than seafood and I hate seafood. That's why you never see me having fish and chips…" He paused for a moment, considering the subject carefully. "No, I prefer fried chicken or burgers or something other than seafood…Something other than seafood or Chinese food. You see, I also don't like Chinese food. It makes me feel kind of sick every time I have it…"

Patrick simply nodded along with what Major Heckler was saying yet at the same time didn't pay much attention to the man's words. Patrick sat back in his seat, able to feel the cold metal of his rifle through his pants from where it was resting on his lap. It seemed like an unnecessary weight to him since he could see no reason for it. They were out in the countryside, far from any prawn activity…

And that's when the armoured personnel carrier slowed down before coming to a halt with the rest of the convoy. Immediately Heckler was sitting up, suddenly alert and only slightly confused. The other mercenaries were sitting up and looking around as well, exchanging confused and worried glances as they pondered over why they had come to a sudden halt.

* * *

**A/N:** And so it begins. This chapter is the first part of the "prologue", hence the sort of abrupt ending. The main character, Lukas Farber, is introduced after a few more chapters. And if you're curious, Wikus does show up...just not for a long while.


	2. Prologue Part II

Major Heckler did not delay when it came to what he would do. He stood up, having to hunch slightly in order to prevent hitting his head on the ceiling of the armoured personnel carrier's passenger section. He moved over to the rear and with ease had pulled open the lock on the rear doors, pushing them open and allowing the cold night air to flow in.

Patrick McDougall felt a chill run through him as the extent of the cold air reached him. Immediately the whole inside of the once reasonably warm armoured personnel carrier hit a startlingly low temperature. The other mercenaries shifted uneasily in their seats, some shivering with the sudden change in temperature while others tried to move away from the opened rear doors.

Behind them another armoured personnel carrier had stopped, its headlights bright and forming two large and near blinding circles of light. It took Patrick's eyes a moment to adjust to the bright white glow that the headlights cast into the interior. He could see that save for the lights of the convoy's vehicles and the stars above it was all but pitch black outside.

An uneasy feeling settled into him, one that refused to go away. The convoy that had been traversing the South African countryside had stopped. That could mean anything yet the very first thing that came into Patrick's mind was the notion that maybe they were under attack. He quelled that thought immediately since it was only making him feel edgy.

Outside the wind whistled by while distant voices could be heard. The other mercenaries with the convoy were just as surprised as Patrick and his group were at their sudden coming to a halt. From what Patrick could see they were nowhere near any hint of civilization, effectively being positioned out in the middle of nowhere. A pitch dark landscape opened up around them and seemed to continue on forever. Grass rustled eerily as a cold breeze billowed across the open savannah. Close by some night animal growled, disturbed by the presence of the humans and their vehicles.

Heckler stepped outside, seemingly unaffected by the cold. His military boots crunched on the gravel and dirt of the road underfoot as he stepped off of the armoured personnel carrier's rear ramp. He surveyed what he could of his surroundings while clutching his Vektor CR21 rifle in his right hand, letting it hang by his side with the barrel pointed downwards.

"What's going on?" Kelley sat up in his seat, taking the headphones off of his ears as his gaze went towards Major Heckler. Kelley's question remained unanswered much to the mercenary's unease.

Heckler remained standing in the one spot just outside the rear of the armoured personnel carrier, looking around as he tried to determine what was going on. He turned his gaze towards the mercenaries sitting in the vehicle behind him and pointed towards Patrick and Turgidson in turn.

"Pat, Turgidson…you're with me," Heckler ordered, "I don't know what's going on but I'll feel safer with someone watching my back as I go and find out. Last thing I need is to get capped in the ass while I go for a walk. That would really piss me off."

Patrick held his rifle close to him as he stepped out of the vehicle and stood to Heckler's right. Outside the cold wind was a lot colder and he began to shiver. He managed to keep himself at some ease, taking a long and examining look at their surroundings. The night sky above was a dark blue, lit up with a blanket of stars that continued on to the very ends of the horizon. The savannah was dark and surprisingly foreboding, unlike the beautiful landscape that was often pictured on postcards. Then again those postcards always featured pictures taken during the day. At night the open plains of Africa could be a rather eerie place. Anyone or anything could be hiding out in the dark, amongst the long grass…

"Let's find out what the hell's going on," Heckler said sternly as he started around the armoured personnel carrier and began heading towards the front of the convoy.

Patrick tagged along a few metres behind, making sure to switch on the flashlight attached to the barrel of his rifle. The beam cast out several metres ahead and he scanned it along the walls of tall grass that ran near the dirt road, catching a glimpse of nothing but the grass itself and some buzzing insects that were exposed in the flashlight beam.

Turgidson had positioned himself by the edge of the road with his back turned to the convoy. His rifle was slung around his shoulder in order for it to be out of his way as he unzipped his trousers and began to urinate into the grass. He was taking his time and when Heckler realized he wasn't following him he stopped and turned around, shooting the mercenary a mean gaze.

"Hey, Turgidson, what the hell are you doing?" Heckler yelled.

Turgidson looked up from where he was peeing, his expression one of noticeable anxiety. Patrick looked back and he could see that the man was shaking almost uncontrollably, as if in the grip of some nagging fear that threatened to make him breakdown.

"I'm…I'm…uh…taking a piss…"

Heckler rolled his eyes once more, again unimpressed with Turgidson's obvious incompetence.

"Well, could you hurry the hell up?" Heckler barked, sounding annoyed, "We may have a situation…"

"A what?!"

"A situation, you numbskull," Heckler replied harshly, "So shake that thing dry and watch our backs!"

Turgidson complied, finishing up his ejection of bodily waste before turning around and walking towards where Heckler and Patrick were waiting. He had left his zip undone, revealing the range underwear he was wearing underneath. Neither Heckler nor Patrick said anything about it though.

All six vehicles in the convoy had stopped on this particular stretch of road. On either side of the road was long grass, the type that made hiding amongst it easy. To top it off it was next to perfectly dark so if there was anyone out there they would have an easy job of hiding from the view of the MNU mercenaries that were escorting the convoy.

Heckler kept a few paces in front of Patrick and Turgidson as he walked by each of the parked vehicles, knocking loudly on the sides of the three armoured personnel carriers in order to get the attention of the mercenaries inside. The pair of mercenaries who had been seated on the rear of the flatbed truck carrying the tarp covered "special cargo" were rising to their feet, climbing off of the truck as Heckler approached. The lead truck had cast its headlights onto what appeared to be an overturned and fairly rusty looking semi-trailer. The semi-trailer itself wouldn't have been a problem if it wasn't for the cargo that its trailer had been carrying: several old wooden crates, all fairly large in size had formed an effective if haphazard looking barricade across the width of the road. It would take some time to move the crates out of the way while righting the overturned truck and moving it would take even longer. Unfortunately the convoy wasn't carrying much in the way of heavy-duty winching equipment, thus this accidental barricade had formed a rather effective obstacle in the way of the convoy and its trip to Zimbabwe.

The semi-trailer looked like it had simply skidded and rolled over. This assumption was proven by the few day old skid marks in the road, left imprinted in the now dried mud. There had been some rain in the region a few days ago (global warming was perhaps to blame) but why this truck had been out here in the first place was anyone's guess.

Heckler approached one of the mercenaries who had stepped off of the flatbed truck that was carrying the convoy's "special cargo". The annoyance was clearly evident in the way he had scrunched up his stern features since he knew such an obstacle in their way would delay this movement operation considerably.

"Where the hell did that come from?" Heckler asked, delivering it as more of a rhetorical question than a proper one. He pointed an accusing finger towards the overturned semi-trailer and the mess its cargo of wooden boxes had made across the width of the road. "Can anybody tell me where that fucking truck came from? How come this wasn't in any of the reports?"

The mercenary simply shrugged, being just as surprised by the find as Heckler was.

"Why the hell are you asking me, boss?" The mercenary asked, frowning through the desert goggles he wore, "I'm just as surprised as you are."

Heckler shook his head and turned to Patrick and Turgidson, both of whom were standing a short distance behind him. Patrick had seen the overturned semi-trailer and the cargo it had spilled across the road during its accident. There was only that slight feeling in Patrick's gut that something didn't quite add up about all of this. The suspicious cargo they were being made to escort in the dead of the night had been somewhat worrying and now they had been delayed. Why did Patrick feel some dread about their situation?

He told himself that no matter what happened he would keep his head. He had been trained to expect anything. He had been in similar circumstances before, with the thought of a possible attack weighing on his mind in plenty of other situations. The night, the vulnerable position…He realized then that the way all the vehicles in the convoy had their headlights on would make them blatantly obvious in the darkness on the open savannah. He looked down at his flashlight, casting the beam on the overturned semi-trailer up ahead.

If there was anybody else out here and they wanted to start shooting then now was their chance. The darkness would make it hard for anyone to see each other but the flashlights that each mercenary carried with them and had switched on would make shooting them easy enough: just aim for the source of the flashlight beam and fire away.

Shit they were vulnerable. Patrick didn't know what to think, whether he should head back into the safety of the armoured personnel carrier or stand out here and watch the Major's back. If Major Heckler needed someone to watch his back then no doubt he was thinking that someone would try and kill him. Then again Major Heckler had always been the type to take precautions, often more than he needed to.

"Where did I put my fucking map?" Heckler said aloud, feeling down his uniform and vest as he checked each of the pockets. He found the map he was after, folded neatly and tucked into a pocket in his trousers. He removed it and unfolded it, opening it up in front of his as he proceeded to pinpoint their current location on the map.

"I don't like this," Turgidson said uneasily, "Anyone could jump us here. I mean, look around…it's dark. And there are way too many places to hide. I say we just go around…"

Heckler looked up from the map. The terrain near the road was somewhat rough and uneven yet it was fairly obvious that the convoy should be able to make it around the overturned semi-trailer. The delay was unnecessary, or perhaps Heckler was thinking that this was all part of some ambush scheme…Whoever had set this up, if anyone had done so may be waiting for them to head around on the grass before jumping out and opening fire.

Who would want to attack them anyway? Patrick had the feeling that the cargo on the truck nearby was special, especially since they were being made to escort it out of the country in the dead of the night. If it was important to MNU then it was probably important to other groups as well…

"We're some distance from the nearest village," Heckler said, having referred to the map, "And we're miles from any real civilization. You could say we're alone out here if it weren't for all the damn animals that are probably lying around. I'm thinking we quit waiting here and wasting time. We go around and hope there aren't any landmines hidden in the grass."

Whether the last sentence Heckler delivered was a joke or not Patrick couldn't tell. He lost interest in what Heckler had to say when the sound of rustling amongst the nearby grass caught his attention. He turned around quickly, rifle raised in order to cast its flashlight beam ahead and onto the grass where he had heard the noise.

That was when he saw it but it was only brief. It could have been anything yet he knew he had seen something. There had been a shadow cast momentarily onto the ground by the flashlight beam, one that had moved and caused another loud rustle in the grass. It was gone in a flash yet Patrick knew that there was something there, hiding amongst the long grass. It could have been an animal which wouldn't have been surprising but Patrick doubted it. He had seen the shadow and what it had looked like: it had perhaps been an arm but not the type of arm he had been expecting…

"What the hell's wrong with you, Pat?" Heckler asked, frowning when he saw Patrick's sudden gain in alertness. He looked towards the spot Patrick had cast the flashlight beam, stepping alongside the young mercenary as he surveyed what was ahead. "You see something?"

"There's nothing there, Pat," Heckler added bluntly.

Turgidson stepped forward, rifle clutched tightly in his hands as he frantically cast the flashlight beam across the grass ahead of him. His eyes were wide with fright yet he continued towards the grass, some powerful urge to investigate driving him on.

"There's something in the grass!" He shouted, getting everybody's attention. He stopped at the edge of the road, his finger tightening on his rifle's trigger. The flashlight on his rifle cast its beam onto a patch of long wavy grass only a short distance to the left of where Patrick had apparently seen movement.

Patrick could feel his heart racing in his chest as the adrenaline began to surge through his system. It was probably just an animal yet as hard as he tried to calm himself he found that his mind was bringing him to more absurd conclusions, like that they were about to be ambushed…

But by who? Who would ambush them? Was it to do with the cargo? Or were they all just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Patrick shifted his rifle and the flashlight beam over to where Turgidson was looking and had his own flashlight beam cast onto. Heckler approached Turgidson with some annoyance, once again finding the young mercenary's incompetence more annoying than amusing. Heckler did bring up his own rifle, starting off of the road and into the grass.

"There's something there, I saw it!" Turgidson declared, his voice still carrying its frantic edge, "It was big…It could have been anything…"

"Exactly…it could have been anything," Heckler replied matter-of-factly, "and that means there's no use in scaring yourselves shitless." He stopped suddenly, peering curiously to somewhere in the darkness amongst the grass while slowly bringing up his rifle

"What is it?" Turgidson yelled, bordering on what sounded like a scream. By now some of the other mercenaries had stopped by the side of the road, holding their rifles at the ready as the seemingly foolhardy Heckler went into the grass.

Heckler was about to reply when something large jumped forth from the grass near him, knocking him aside with ease before racing out onto the road. It roared loudly, bearing a set of fangs that could easily have torn off a man's limbs. Turgidson opened fire and his rifle flared in the dark, casting momentary flashes through the vicinity. The bark of the rifle only helped to deafen Patrick in his left ear, each shot sending a ringing that lasted briefly.

Turgidson emptied a whole magazine in the creature's direction. Every shot missed the fast legged animal as it bolted past, frightened away by the noise of the gunfire. Turgidson kept his rifle's trigger pulled even when the magazine loaded in the weapon was empty, receiving only a hollow _click-click_ sound in return.

The four legged creature raced past Patrick, roaring again before running off into the darkness. When Patrick saw what it was he relaxed immediately, feeling like an absolute moron for working himself up like that.

"It was a lion, you fucking idiot!" Heckler shouted as he stood up, brushing himself of the dirt that had gathered on his vest. He seemed annoyed which was understandable since a lot of the bullets Turgidson had fired had come startlingly close to hitting him. He pointed an accusing finger towards the young mercenary, his voice traced with anger.

"You idiot!" He shouted even louder this time, "Did I say you could start shooting? No, I don't think I did…"

Turgidson realized that everybody outside was looking at him. He lowered his empty Vektor CR21 rifle and a look of overwhelming embarrassment came upon his features.

"You almost shot me you dickhead!" Heckler shouted. He started walking towards Turgidson, his intention of beating the crap out of the young mercenary obvious in the way he was walking.

"I'm sorry…"

"Sorry?" Heckler stopped at the edge of the road and smiled for the first time that night. "Not as a sorry as you're going to be when I'm finished with you, you worthless piece of shit. Hell, If you had shot the lion I would have shot you in return. Lions are endangered you know, you can't just go around and shoot at them…"

Patrick was only slightly concerned as to Turgidson's wellbeing. Sure Heckler would beat him up but if he was overzealous MNU would fire him. Patrick doubted Heckler wanted to lose his job over this incident so a few punches across the face would probably be what he delivered.

Unfortunately for Major Heckler he never got a chance to punch Turgidson up. Instead there was a distant yet clearly audible _shing_ sound and a lance of blue-white energy suddenly shot out of the darkness, hitting the Major square in the back where he stood. He exploded, spraying blood and bits of bones across a wide area. Patrick received a splatter of blood in his face which managed to trickle into his mouth, causing him to spit and gag on the salty taste. Turgidson received a few bucket-loads of blood on his front, ruining his vest and uniform while leaving him with a stunned look on his face.

Patrick wiped the Major's blood from his face, noticing that all that was left of the Major was a large red puddle on the ground and several tattered pieces of clothing. Patrick realized then that his earlier fears had not been unfounded since they were now under attack. He felt sick as the taste of the Major's blood had found its way onto his tongue and was refusing to leave, yet he managed to keep his last meal down as he brought up his rifle and started searching for whoever had fired.

What kind of weapon did that to someone? It certainly hadn't been a conventional explosive, like a grenade or rocket launcher…No, it had been a lance-like beam of energy that had done it and now there was barely anything left of Major Heckler except for a puddle and several dozen wet pieces. One of Heckler's arms had come to a rest near Patrick's feet, the hand still formed in the accusing pointing finger that the Major had had trained in Turgidson's direction.

The mercenaries nearby were spreading out and yelling. Turgidson simply stood with that dumbfounded look on his face, as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. From a scare with a disturbed lion to this: what the hell was going on?

Patrick snapped out of his dumbfounded state and dived to the ground moments before a few more of the beams shot their way out of the darkness ahead. A few of the mercenaries behind him exploded, showering him with blood and fleshy pieces. Patrick was on the verge of throwing up and proceeded to do so, bringing up his half-digested dinner from hours before. It collected into a puddle in front of him, leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth that only helped to repulse him even more.

By now his uniform and vest were ruined with the blood of others. He put a hand to his vest and wiped away some of the blood there as well as a wet fleshy chunk of…something. Patrick didn't know what it was nor did he want to find out, simply flinging it into the dirt below with a wet sounding _splat!_

Behind him one of the mercenaries had mounted the gun on top of one of the armoured personnel carriers. He seemed to have a good idea of what to shoot at and proceeded to turn the fifty calibre machine gun onto the darkness ahead. By now the other mercenaries were scattering and running for cover while those that weren't outside were flowing out of the vehicles, some getting cut down by the weapons fire that shot from the darkness.

Patrick couldn't see who or what was shooting at them from where he lay but he didn't dare to stand up in order to find out. It was obvious that his Kevlar vest would be useless against whatever weapons their unseen enemy was using so he decided that he would try his hardest to not even attract enemy fire. That meant staying low and exposing himself only when absolutely necessary. If that meant being a coward then he would be a coward, he didn't care.

More volleys of energy weapons fire came from the darkness. The mercenary mounting the fifty calibre gun was hit by a different sort of blast and part of his head was blown away from the rest of it, bleeding profusely all down his face. He slumped against the mounted gun, a stupid look on his face.

That was when Patrick saw the movement in the grass ahead, followed by animal-like chitters and clicking sounds. As soon as he caught a glimpse of something in the grass ahead he pulled the trigger on his rifle, feeling it shake against his shoulder as it barked loudly. The noise drowned out any other he might have been able to hear as each round hammered into the long grass ahead, shearing blades of it away. Something amongst the grass emitted an alien squeal before it came tumbling out of the long grass. It managed a few steps before it fell onto Patrick, bleeding black blood all over his legs.

Patrick kicked it off, overcome with a strong tar-like smell that made his eyes water. It was the blood oozing out of the many rifle rounds that had found their way into the front of the alien "prawn". The dead prawn came to a rest to Patrick's right, its yellow feline-like eyes staring at him lifelessly. One of its four fingered hands were clutching a large and bulky alien weapon, undoubtedly the sort of gun that was causing the mercenaries casualties.

_Prawns. They were under attack from prawns._ The realization hit Patrick then and there. Why were they being attacked by prawns and how could any of them have gotten this far out of District 10? District 10 was built like a concentration camp; none of them could get out without MNU knowing about it…Could they? Well, he wasn't in much of a position to think about it now.

The special cargo. That's what they were after. Patrick continued to fire his rifle into the grass, cutting another two of the aliens down before he had to reload. As he did so he caught a glimpse of Turgidson who was still standing still, still wearing a stupid look on his face. He was set upon by two of the attacking prawns, one of them managing a happy sounding set of clicks before it grabbed Turgidson by the right arm and pulled. The mercenary's arm tore right away before the second prawn grabbed the young mercenary's throat and tore it right open. Turgidson fell into a puddle of his own blood yet he didn't make a sound…either because he had been killed before he had been able to or because he was still in his dumbfounded state of mind.

Patrick could see that they were being overrun. He could do little about that at the moment, busy reloading his rifle. Behind him he heard weapons fire and shouts which turned to screams as the prawns started coming from the other side of the road, assaulting the mercenaries up close. Human strength wasn't much compared to that of an alien "prawn" and most of the mercenaries were torn to shreds before they could defend themselves.

Patrick pulled the empty magazine out of his rifle and slapped a full one into its place, hearing that relieving _click-click_ as the magazine found its place in the weapon. The Vektor CR21 assault rifle was a reliable weapon, standard-issue to most of South Africa's armed forces. Hopefully it would prove its reliability since Patrick _really_ needed it right now.

He rose to a crouching position, shifting his aim towards the two prawns that were busy ripping Turgidson to shreds. They tossed aside torn limbs like rubbish, simply tearing the young mercenary apart for the fun of it rather than for the food his body provided. Patrick could feel his heart racing in his chest as he realized that a similar fate awaited him. He wasn't about to let that happen. Fortunately for him, none of the prawns were distracted with killing him just yet. Gathering his senses he swallowed and pulled the trigger on his rifle once more, keeping it held down as he sprayed bullets across the two prawns that were tearing poor old Turgidson to shreds. Both aliens twitched and spun slightly, explosions of smelly black blood erupting from their bodies as the bullets found their marks. The prawns fell to the ground, both of them well and truly dead.

That was when one grabbed Patrick from behind. He could smell it (prawns didn't wash very often) and the smell was repulsive enough to make him feel like throwing up again. It growled angrily in his ear and managed to grab his right arm, denying him use of his rifle as its strong hands gripped him tightly. Patrick quickly gathered that battle calm he had been taught to carry with him during dire circumstances like this, using his left hand to pull free his sidearm. He stuck the barrel into the prawn's gut and fired, feeling a warm spray of oozing black blood against his back. The prawn released its grip on him, stumbling backwards as it put a hand to the bleeding hole in its stomach.

Patrick quickly turned around to face his foe and fired three more times, placing two bullets into the prawn's chest and one last one into its head. The prawn fell backwards, convulsing in its death throes for a few agonizing seconds before going still.

By now there were at least a dozen of the aliens busy tearing up the other mercenaries and blasting away those that were out of reach. A few had taken up a position on the truck carrying the special cargo, working at undoing the straps that held the tarp on top of the cargo itself. Patrick was the last MNU mercenary who was still alive and not in the process of getting killed.

He brought up his rifle and fired across the three prawns on top of the flatbed truck who were working at uncovering the special cargo. All three fell as the assault rifle rounds punched through their hard exoskeletons. They fell off of the truck, one of them managing to crawl a short distance towards Patrick with a mad look in its eyes before becoming still.

Patrick heard the sound of footsteps behind him and he turned around, rifle raised. Standing a short distance behind him was a prawn, one that had a slightly darker tone to its hard exoskeleton and seemed to be wearing a set of tattered bandages on its left arm. This prawn was flanked by two others, both of which were carrying alien weapons.

The reasons as to why this one prawn seemed so important Patrick did not care about. Instead, he raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. He wanted to kill all three, especially the one that seemed to be the leader. He could tell from the way it was standing and looking at him that it was the thinker of the group.

Weren't prawns meant to be stupid? He wasn't too sure, especially with the rumours that they were in fact a lot smarter than originally suspected. Still, he didn't give a damn since they had just killed a bunch of his friends. While several other prawns went about ransacking the vehicles on the convoy this one with the pair following it seemed far more interested in Patrick.

Unfortunately for Patrick his rifle's magazine was empty. It clicked loudly when he pulled the trigger and he felt a sudden surge of fear flow through him.

"Shit," was all he managed to say at that moment. He lowered the rifle and brought up his sidearm, only managing to get his finger on the trigger before the lead prawn stepped forwards and grabbed it with its left hand.

That was when he noticed the missing first finger on the left hand of this particular alien. Patrick felt its grip tighten on his sidearm wielding right hand rather painfully, forcing him to drop the weapon into the dirt. And without uttering a single word the prawn let go of him, picking up the sidearm while his two prawn friends looked on.

Was it going to kill him? Patrick had no doubt that it would. He watched with uncertainty as the prawn examined the pistol briefly before gripping the firing end in its left hand. Patrick suddenly felt very vulnerable…

They had killed Heckler, Turgidson and everybody else who had been in the convoy. Yet they let him live although Patrick could see that his time of death was at hand. It was funny since he had always thought he would go down in far more glorious circumstances.

The lead prawn with the pistol's firing end gripped in his left hand took a step forward, making sure its feline-like yellow eyes met with Patrick's brown human ones.

"Go ahead," Patrick croaked, his voice surprisingly weak. He was fairly certain he would die…If only this damn prawn got on with it.

Rather than kill Patrick the prawn brought the heavy butt-end of the pistol down onto the human's skull with considerable force. The blow sent Patrick into unconsciousness where he would remain for some time. And in that time he would dream of the horrible deaths he had witnessed, yet he would not be able to awake from these dreams for hours to come.


	3. A New Agenda Part I

**A New Agenda  
**MNU Headquarters, Johannesburg  
June 3rd, 2013  
1020 Hours

The city of Johannesburg was spread before Jonas Lochaeen and as much as he would have liked to think he had control over it he knew this wasn't the case. In fact, recent years had seen a sharp decrease in MNU's control over the general population and the South African government. It could all be traced back to the court cases that had been put against Multinational United to do with the corporation's illegal genetic research.

Being a global corporation with much power, MNU had had little trouble in "weaselling" its way out of the charges brought against it. However, that professional way of getting out of trouble had come at a cost. The previous Director of MNU's South African branch had been forced to resign and all details about the illegal genetic research carried out by the corporation had been forcefully disclosed to the public. Jonas had been assigned as the previous man's replacement as Director of the corporation's South Africa branch and had been in his position since April of 2011.

Usually he would have been ecstatic to receive such a high-up and powerful position, now able to control all of MNU's operations within the country as well as have considerable influence in the South African government. However, his appointment as Director had come at a time where a large section of the public (especially in other countries) had been outraged upon learning the truth of MNU's research with the alien "prawns". Jonas had been involved in this research as one of the men responsible for keeping it going. The idea was to find out what made the prawn weaponry exclusively work for the aliens and thus find a way to put that in humans, thus allowing those humans access to the powerful advanced weaponry. It would have opened up a whole plethora of business opportunities since many nation's armies and similar corporations to MNU would have wanted access to the alien weaponry and would have paid a lot for such access. Jonas had been looking forward to becoming an extremely wealthy man when that research had finally paid off.

He had been quite pleased with what had happened to one of their workers in the Extraterrestrial Affairs Department. Wikus van der Merwe had been exposed to alien biology and had developed a means to operate alien weaponry. The idea had been to vivisect him and replicate how he had been able to operate the weapons before applying it to MNU mercenaries. Of course, Jonas had been sorely disappointed (angry even) when the man had escaped and had thus proceeded to become an absolute nuisance to MNU shortly after his escape before disappearing.

Where Wikus was now didn't matter. Jonas had always been curious as to what had happened to the bumbling white collar worker and had managed to start a few investigations to look into it, all of which had turned up cold. For almost two and a half years Jonas had been running a corporation in turmoil, all a direct result of that man's actions and the actions of one of his colleagues (this particular colleague had revealed MNU's genetic research to the public). Public opinion in superpowers such as China and the United States was sorely against MNU and many powerful groups were calling for the corporation to be shut down. Sure, shutting down a worldwide corporation would leave many jobless and would simply cause more trouble thus aforementioned powerful groups were pressuring towards MNU's South Africa branch to be closed down. Such an occurrence would leave Jonas without a job and he was determined to ensure that he kept that job and would go to any means to do this.

The pay was good and the power he had was almost debilitating. If someone annoyed him out on the street he could have the local police arrest that person within hours and thrown into prison without trial shortly afterwards. He had always been careful as to how he exploited his power here, making sure that he didn't appear to be some sort of dictator. He had already made himself tax exempt and had already used his money and his connections to secure him several expensive sports cars and a large penthouse within the city.

For the last three years he had been in charge of MNU's operations within the country, Johannesburg especially. He would have liked to think that he was doing a damn good job but this would only be in denial of the truth. Even now there were protestors grouped outside the front of the headquarters building, brandishing placards and chanting angry slogans. From his top floor office suite he could gaze upon the city, confident that he was in the city's tallest structure.

He stood on the balcony outside of his office while holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes, using them to scope out the many protestors grouped on the street below. As usual they were all alien rights protestors and with the powerful lens of his binoculars he could make out the writing on the placards.

'GIVE THE PRAWNS A BREAK' and 'FREE DISTRICT 10' were among some of the wholesome slogans the protestors had scrawled on their placards. Some of the protestors would have been from outside of Johannesburg, perhaps even passionate enough to fly over from places like America or England just in order to try and prove their point. Jonas could only think of them as a mere nuisance, blocking up the street outside and throwing stones and soft drink cans at any MNU personnel and vehicles that might be down there as well.

Jonas was dressed in his black business suit (the same design he wore every day on his job). He was about fifty-seven and of medium statue, his hair having gone grey while falling out a few places to form a bald patch on the top of his scalp. He had dull blue eyes and his face was currently contorted into a scowl as he surveyed the protestors below. MNU mercenaries had managed to force the protestors onto the sidewalks in order to clear up the road and keep MNU vehicles and personnel going in and out, thus keeping the business here running on schedule. So far the protestors had formed the routine of leaving at about ten in the evening before returning by nine in the morning. Some stood on street corners handing out leaflets to passers-by while others had been daring enough to smash the windows on the lower few floors of the building. Vandals such as that were dealt with harshly by the MNU mercenaries and security forces that were stationed outside in order to combat the protestors and keep them from interfering with MNU's operations.

Ever since the illegal genetics research trials of late 2010 and early 2011 it seemed that a whole movement had been formed in order to fight for the rights of the alien "prawns". It seemed to be growing by the day and Jonas was only slightly worried about such self-righteous idiots putting him out of a job. There was very little chance they would succeed in the long run unless they got the support of powerful nations. Most superpowers had been clever enough to keep out of South Africa's business but were now beginning to push more and more for the closure of MNU's South Africa branch. It was understandable that diplomatic nations between South Africa and the superpowers would become strained and thus these moves against MNU here had only been careful subtle ones, never enough to destroy diplomatic relations. A war over the welfare of the prawns was definitely something that many other nations considered a waste of time and resources, thus they had only been verbal and not physical in their dislike of MNU.

Jonas was confident that he would stay in his job until he was ready to retire, whenever that time came. He already had enough money to set him up for life; he just enjoyed the power that came with his position too much to give it all up now. He wasn't ready for a quiet life in his penthouse, sleeping in on mornings and staying up late watching television. He didn't want to go to bingo nights at the senior citizens club or take up golf. He wasn't ready for all that "old fart" stuff right now. No, he wanted to stay in his position of power for as long as he could until MNU _made_ him quit.

He lowered the binoculars and simply shook his head. The main congregation of the few scores of protestors were outside the main entrance. Currently they were pelting a passing MNU cargo truck with empty soft drink cans. Taking careful aim at the crowd and adjusting for the slight warm breeze that billowed by the skyscraper he leaned his head slightly over the edge of the balcony, gathering up a considerable lump of spit in his mouth before propelling it forth. It fell down past the hundreds of windows below before disappearing from view, lost as a mere speck against the backdrop of streets and rooftops and pedestrians. Jonas could only hope it landed on some idiot protestor's head.

It was about twenty-five past ten in the morning. He didn't have much on his agenda today, having gone to a daily board meeting earlier that had finished about half an hour ago. This left him with plenty of spare time to catch up on paperwork as well as get to work on whatever major project MNU had coming up next. He wasn't looking forward to whatever one the board submitted to him since most had to do with the alien "prawns". And if there was one thing he didn't give a damn about it was the prawns.

Again and again he was reminded of their existence and how he was in charge of looking after them. One way to look after something he wanted little to do with had been to throw all the idiot prawns (in other words, all of them) into a concentration camp, otherwise known as "District 10". The movement operation from the slums of District 9 into the tents and shanties of District 10 had gone somewhat smoothly…if you could discount the interference from Mr. Van de Merwe and his prawn friends. Most of District 9's slums had been razed to the ground once the prawns had been evicted although there were still plenty left, as well as plenty of prawns that had been "missed" during the evictions. They lived in the slums illegally and thus they had no protection and even less rights than those who lived in District 10. People could do whatever they wanted to the illegal prawns who resided in those slums without consequence; hence the reason hate crimes against the prawns had been on an increase as of late. Did Jonas care if a prawn was gunned down simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? No, he didn't. Whenever he heard that some local crazies with guns were moving out to the remaining areas of District 9 to go on a "prawn hunt" he would simply laugh and wish the group leader luck, telling him (or her) that they could kill as many as they wanted. The prawns still in District 9 were the ones no one cared about.

There had been rumours and speculation that the slums of District 9 had become a sort of gathering area for the growing rebellion amongst the aliens. Jonas had made sure to have some of the people from the technology department to install a surveillance network in the remaining slums in order to counter this threat, if it was in fact real. Nothing conclusive had turned up yet it seemed that attacks against MNU assets were on a sharp increase. Prawns were turning up all throughout the countryside and not only in Districts 9 and 10, most of them armed and dangerous. When a prawn had a gun you would best to leave it alone since those creatures were damned unpredictable. They could kill you without much thought to it. They had two distinct modus operandi: "stupid" or "violent". Both were capable of leading to trouble.

Jonas stood upright then, placing his binoculars onto the small circular wooden table nearby before cracking the knuckles of his fingers loudly. He took a deep long breath of the air, catching the scent of petrol fumes and some other smells of the city, although the extent of the air up this high was fairly clean. There was a chilled glass jug of orange juice on the table and an empty glass next to it. He carefully poured himself a glass of the juice and put it to his lips, tasting it before immediately putting the glass back down with a look of revulsion crossing his face. The juice was damn sour, enough to put him off having anymore.

Behind him the glass sliding doors that lead back into his office were pen. Above the sky had some scattered white and wispy clouds, the type that were common on a warm day like this. The sun was bright and hot, beating down upon the city with unrelenting warmth. It was going to be a typically hot and somewhat dry day in Johannesburg today, he could tell this much from the immediate weather. Standing out on this balcony and looking upon the city made him feel superior to all of the fools living below, going about their daily business yet when it came to a sensitive matter such as the prawns you would have people jumping out and voicing their opinions. In fact it seemed these prawn rights activists had the habit of ramming their beliefs down the throats of others, even when most people in Johannesburg couldn't care. The whole operation of moving the prawns from District 9 and into District 10 had been so they weren't anywhere near the general population of Johannesburg. District 10 lay two hundred miles out in the countryside, well out of everybody's way. The prawns still in District 9's remaining slums didn't have long. How could they survive without being supplied food and water? Jonas had contemplated simply sending in some mercenaries to clean the place out but had never gotten round to it, thinking that such a move would only hurt MNU's public image further. Already people had deemed MNU as "inhuman" and "immoral" for their experiments of the prawns and their selfish greed. Jonas, whenever questioned as to why MNU had carried out their experiments would always give the same reply: _"It was just business."_

That was true enough. The reason MNU did it was for the money and the reason Jonas worked was for the money. Wasn't that what it was all about? Money. Everything had money involved in it somewhere, otherwise it probably wouldn't exist. People wrote books for money, people made television shows for money, people worked hard for money…And MNU was no different, yet a lot of people hated them. And all because of that genetics research, something that was now a thing of MNU's past. Jonas could see nothing wrong in dissecting a few prawns here and there…who would miss those prawns? Their families? Who gave a shit about prawn families…that is, if the prawns actually had "families" in the way that humans had them?

There were also the speculations that the prawns were a lot smarter than people thought. Jonas wasn't much of a believer in this, especially since he had seen the prawns in action. They were more like animals, jumping around, hissing, fighting over food scraps…why had God decided to dump their spaceship in this country in the first place? The Americans or the Chinese would have been better suited to dealing with the idiot aliens, yet South Africa had ended up with the burden of an extraterrestrial race on its doorstep. Now the state of the country was where it was now: overflowing with quite literal illegal aliens (the prawns still in District 9) and aliens in the concentration camps (those that were currently residing in District 10). There were God knew how many loose in the countryside, trying to blow stuff up like damn guerrilla fighters (like the Vietcong or something). And Jonas was King of the fucking mess that MNU in South Africa was now. Sometimes he felt like wiping out the prawns for all the trouble they had caused. All it would take was a sizeable and heavily armed force of MNU hired mercenaries, armed with the latest in weapons technology. They would need a good cover story, one that would explain away why such an act of genocide was being carried out.

Before the prawns had arrived back in the early 1980s, Jonas had been an avid movie-goer and had enjoyed science fiction movies. Now they all seemed like crap. Science fiction was no longer the same thanks to the actual proven existence of extraterrestrial life. Now he couldn't watch a science fiction movie that featured aliens without breaking the television set in sheer rage. His movie-going life had been ruined thanks to the prawns.

How many of them were around now? The last census had come back with about 2.7 million in District 10 alone. In fact, District 10 was becoming more of a township than a concentration camp. There were tents the size of houses and shanties that were practically like hotels and apartment complexes. The prawns could do as they wanted within the confines of District 10, just as long they didn't try to escape. Yet it seemed some always managed to escape into the countryside, probably to join whatever guerrilla movement was out there. There were still probably about a quarter of a million prawns in the remaining slums of District 9 and that number was growing constantly as more unaccounted births were carried out. The Nigerian cartel that was in operation there seemed to be running the place fairly efficiently, not without killing prawns while selling cat food by the truckload.

Who was the man Jonas had put in charge of security in District 10? He was some washed out British ex-SAS Colonel, the man's name was at the back of Jonas's mind…George McTavish, that was it. The moron was always complaining about how he didn't have enough men and resources to keep the prawns under control yet Jonas gave him all he needed it. It was only because of this growing feeling of resistance amongst the prawns were they having trouble keeping them under control.

Whoever was running this guerrilla resistance movement was having a noticeable effect on the prawn population. It seemed that the prawns were finally beginning to understand the oppressive conditions they lived in and more were getting violent every day. Already there had been about nine confirmed deaths amongst the mercenary force stationed at District 10 and several injuries, all related to prawns getting violent. Then again, this much was to be expected of the idiot aliens…they had always been like that, hadn't they? Killing for no real reason?

He looked towards the east and saw the remaining slums of District 9, a set of dingy brown structures nestled on the outskirts of the city. Half of the original District was gone, razed by bulldozers in order to remove all traces of this shitty looking smear from the landscape. The razing operation had hit the snag of there actually being many prawns still living over there, most of them unruly yet strangely complacent in their existence. The Nigerian cartel in operation there was another obstacle in the way of demolishing District 9 since no doubt the Nigerians would start shooting if some MNU bulldozers rolled up to their hideouts. In other words, Jonas was faced with an unresolvable situation. It pissed him off, to say the least. They may as well drop a load of bombs on the District and leave it at that…he had been thinking maybe napalm (lots of it) would do the trick. Then again, such a move would only tarnish MNU's public image even more. Bombs dropped on Johannesburg? That would cause _a lot_ of trouble.

Jonas turned around and headed back into his office, trying to get over how much of a shit-coloured smear District 9 was on the surrounding landscape. To him the place did look like a smear at the bottom of the toilet bowl, something that should be cleaned up but nobody had yet been game enough to. It was a smear on this great city's geography that had to be removed and yet Jonas knew that he couldn't succeed in this. They might have been able to get rid of the Nigerians there (not without taking plenty of casualties) but the prawns, all fifty thousand thousand of them would be impossible to remove. They were "illegal aliens" yet it was surprising just how many people out in the general public cared about them.

The inside of Jonas' office was cool and well ventilated from the heat outside. The walls were a wooden oak brown while a few cabinets were nearby. There was a large plasma television in an entertainment unit in one corner, connected to a DVD player and surround sound speakers. A stereo unit was in a glass cabinet nearby and this was the device Jonas was approaching now, stopping a short distance from it as he flicked a switch and the iPod connected to it started playing the first song on the current playlist through the stereo's big and thick speakers.

"_She comes in colours everywhere…She combs her hair…She's like a RAIINNBOWWW…"_

Jonas started humming along as he turned around and headed to his desk. The desk itself was an expensive mahogany one with a light brown finish, complete with some drawers with brass knobs and a green felt pad to work on. There was a pile of papers laid neatly to one side while an intercom that allowed communication to any part of the building was on the other side. Jonas sat himself down in the black leather rotating chair, spinning himself around slightly as he thought of what to do.

The day before he had received a call from some shady sounding man to do with one of the items MNU had in storage within the underground levels of the headquarters. Down there had been where the genetics research had been carried out and those basement levels had formed useful storage space. The mysterious caller had simply called himself "Richard" and had claimed to work for another organization. Apparently he was interested in one of the items being kept in MNU storage and had mentioned a lot of things that no one outside of MNU's upper echelons could have known about.

Jonas had been unnerved by Richard's somewhat large array of knowledge to do with the things MNU had kept secret. There was apparently something very special to do with this item and thus Richard's organization had requested that the item be moved to a location on the South Africa-Zimbabwe border in order for Richard's associates to pick it up. Jonas had refused at first…until Richard had revealed a few certain things about Jonas' personal life that the old man would have preferred to keep secret. In other words, he was being blackmailed and it pissed poor old Jonas off.

Jonas had been dreading a return call from that man ever since he had received word earlier this morning abut the unfortunate circumstances that had befallen the convoy carrying the item. Jonas wasn't even sure on what the item was or where it was from, only that it seemed to have some powerful people very interested in it. Rather than have his public image destroyed by blackmail material Jonas had given into Richard's smooth-spoken demands and had organized a convoy in the dead of the night to move the item out to Zimbabwe. Richard had specified the timeframe and the threat level, making it clear that there was the distinct possibility that something may happen on the way there.

And happen it did. According to the reports Jonas had received, the convoy had been found about thirty miles north of Pretoria on a stretch of desert road. Casualties were uncertain but the item that had been carried by the convoy had been taken. It shouldn't have taken much to count the casualties if it weren't for the state most of the bodies were in, many of the MNU people in the convoy having fallen victim to prawn weaponry. It was often hard to determine one chunky pool of blood from another and even harder to identify whether each puddle was a different person or not. About five dead prawns with alien weaponry had been found on the scene as well, the signs of a firefight all there. The convoy had been apparently held up by an overturned semi-trailer that had blocked the road…and it had been certified that the semi-trailer had been stolen about a week ago from a freight company in Pretoria. These circumstances only further supported the theory that someone was getting the prawns organized and whoever it was (whether it be one person or several) Jonas would track down.

Why would the prawns have wanted the item, whatever that item had been? Jonas felt left out of the loop when it came to recent events concerning this item, an item that seemed to have no records of its existence on the MNU database. How could the prawns have known about it? Could it have been a random attack? It seemed far more likely that this whole attack had been planned at least a week in advance and yet the convoy had only been organized on the very night it had departed…

None of it made sense yet Jonas wasn't in much of a position to contemplate why it didn't make sense. He was still far too worried about what this Richard guy would do, especially with the blackmail material he had. Jonas had already reached the conclusion that Richard worked with some secret government organization, perhaps not in the South African government but some other country. There was no doubt that plenty of other groups were interested in the prawns and their technology. Some people had even theorized that Wikus van de Merwe's eventual fate had been to get captured by a government organization, possibly held captive by whatever organization in order to be studied thoroughly.

That was when the intercom on Jonas' desk crackled into life. His female secretary's voice filtered through the speaker, carrying with it that usual light friendly tone. It was her job to be friendly, even if she was having a bad day and would have liked nothing more than to punch up anyone who annoyed her.

"_Mr. Lochaeen?"_

Jonas held down the response button, his train of thought close to derailed. Now he could only contemplate as to why his secretary was calling over the intercom. It could have been for any reason, perhaps even to do with the terrible orange juice they had been delivered this morning. Usually it was a lot better but today it was enough to make one retch.

"What is it?" Jonas kept his voice level as he often did, even if he was feeling rather stressed.

_"There's a man out here who wants to meet you,"_ the secretary replied, sounding a little perplexed, _"He doesn't have an appointment, although he told me you would be expecting him…"_

Jonas frowned. This wouldn't be the first time that an uninvited guest had attempted to meet him in his office. He had lost count of the amount of journalists and activists who had somehow managed to get through security and onto the top floor in an effort to meet him.

"What's his name?"

"_His name? He says his name is Richard Houser. Are you expecting him?"_

Jonas realized immediately who this was. Tensing slightly he hesitated before responding. If this was the same Richard as the one who had called him yesterday (and there was no doubt in his mind that this was the case) then he would probably be best to let this man into his office…

"Let him in," Jonas ordered before depressing the "response" button on the intercom. He sat back in his chair, his mind going into overdrive as to the true nature of this man.

Who could Richard Houser be working for and why did he seem to know so much about MNU's secrets? Sure, the genetics research was public knowledge now but there had been other things that MNU had kept secret, even after the trials in court. And now Richard was here, undoubtedly because of what had happened to the convoy. There was a possible security leak if the prawn insurgents had known about the convoy, unless it was just a random attack.

Jonas could only sit and contemplate all of this, even as the door ahead opened. It seemed safe to assume that Richard Houser was definitely the shady type.


	4. A New Agenda Part II

When the doors of the office opened Jonas Lochaeen was somewhat surprised by the man he saw. Rather than the shady and serious no-nonsense man he had been expecting, Richard Houser quelled that assumption from his sheer choice of dress and from the casual way he seemingly waltzed into the office.

His black hair was formed into a buzz cut while his light brown eyes were bright and lively. He had a sort of a smirk on his face as he walked in with a casual swagger, almost knocking over a vase which was set upon a pillar by the door. He stopped and steadied it with his left hand, taking a moment to survey the intricate floral patterns on the vase itself. That vase was worth quite a bit of money apparently, although Jonas had not been the one to buy it and put it on display. Rather the last Director of MNU's South Africa branch had been the one to purchase it, placing it somewhere which would be immediately visible to anyone who walked into the office. The sheer value of the vase would have been enough to make many people come to the conclusion that they were faced with a powerful and wealthy man.

Gripped in Richard Houser's right hand was a black leather-bound briefcase. He was dressed in a set of beige slacks with a matching coloured jacket. Underneath was a red Hawaiian shirt covered with bright floral patterns, something of an odd choice to go with the rest of the business attire. He was wearing a pair of light brown loafers that worked well with blending in with the pants, although the red Hawaiian was what caught Jonas' attention.

If this was the man who was blackmailing him then Jonas didn't know what to think. Richard Houser looked to be no older than forty and had young well-chiselled features that would have undoubtedly made him popular with women. He placed the expensive vase back on its pillar before continuing into the office, walking with an air of confidence and authority.

Jonas knew better than to let some big-headed man with bad fashion sense intimidate him. He had been expecting a sort of "man in black" character, the type of government agent that no ordinary person would have wanted to cross. Instead Jonas was faced with someone who looked like a 1980s _Miami Vice_ reject and probably had the annoying personality to go with it. Jonas had never liked that particular television show…Then again he didn't really like cop shows in general. They were all the same sort of thing, concerning good looking cops fighting general scumbags and lowlifes (often in a set of poorly done action sequences).

Richard's gaze met with Jonas and he simply smiled, revealing a set of startlingly white teeth. He probably took extra care of them, Jonas figured. Richard stopped a short distance before Jonas' mahogany desk and set his briefcase down carefully, as if it contained some fragile materials.

"Nice office," Richard commented as he surveyed the surrounding office and its contents. His accent was the somewhat ordinary American type, implying that he was from California or Florida or some sunny part of the United States. He did have the tan to go with it.

Jonas was frowning, primarily because he hadn't really been expecting such an idiotic looking man to show up. However, the more he looked at Richard the more he began to feel uneasy. There was something about this man, through the aura of confidence and bad fashion sense. There was something in his eyes, something genuinely unnerving…

"You called me yesterday," Jonas said, deciding to get straight to business, "you wanted something we had down in storage and I arranged for it to be taken to the place you wanted it to be sent…"

"And that's why I'm here now, Mr. Lockeen," Richard replied, losing the smile but keeping a rather light-hearted gaze as well as a tone of voice to match.

"It's 'Lochaeen', not 'Lockeen'," Jonas said sternly, narrowing his eyes.

Richard only shrugged in response, obviously not giving a damn abut how to say Jonas' last name.

"Whatever," Richard replied, simply brushing aside what Jonas had said as if he had never actually said it. He paused, taking a moment to look carefully towards Jonas. Jonas was returning the favour by carefully examining Richard from where he stood.

Jonas didn't trust this man. There was something about him that he didn't like. Over the years Jonas had become an excellent judge of people he met (such ability was sort of needed in his job) and he was often capable of telling whether someone was lying to him or not. Richard Houser had contacted him yesterday over the phone and had more or less made him do what he had wanted: to organize the move of something that had been stored in MNU's Johannesburg headquarters basement for the last two decades. Richard hadn't specified any reasons as to why he had wanted this to be done or who he was working for, just that he had some sensitive material on Jonas and a number of other higher-ups in MNU here in South Africa. In order to prevent the disclosure of this information Richard wanted Jonas to do as he was told.

Jonas didn't like being intimidated like that and had been only slightly nervous when it came to meeting the man who had spoken over the phone. Over the phone he had sounded decidedly secretive but here in person he sounded like a typical American with a lot of confidence.

"I'm Richard Houser by the way," Richard said, his tone friendly as he held out his right hand in an obvious gesture to shake with Jonas. Jonas ignored the extended hand, keeping his gaze trained on Richard.

"Yes, I knew that," Jonas said, "what I would like to know is why you're here and what was so special about that item I had to move for you last night…"

Richard retracted his right hand and managed another big smile, one that only annoyed Jonas rather than put him at ease.

"Oh, you corporate types are so damn serious," Richard said, noticing that Jonas was yet to stop scowling at him. He was unfazed by Jonas' coldness, probably having gotten used to this sort of treatment. He seemed the type of person who very few people would have really liked, primarily because of his annoying aura of confidence.

"Get a fucking sense of humour, Jonas!" Richard exclaimed, still keeping on a smile as he cheerfully slapped Jonas on the shoulder in a friendly manner. Richard suddenly frowned before adding: "You don't mind if I call you Jonas, do you?"

Jonas was about to reply when Richard started speaking again, disallowing Jonas a chance to actually answer his question. Jonas was silenced as Richard's cheerful voice broke in and quickly drowned out anything Jonas had been about to say.

"Normally I wouldn't meet in person unless absolutely necessary," Richard said. Both his hands went down to the briefcase he had set upon the desk, his fingers working the latches there as he proceeded to open the briefcase.

"And boy, is now one of those 'absolutely necessary' times!" Richard exclaimed. Already his voice and overly cheerful attitude was getting on Jonas' nerves.

Jonas resisted the urge to simply reach out and throttle the man by the throat only because he wanted to find out about why Richard was here and just who he worked for. Richard was definitely somebody's lackey since it seemed unlikely that such a moron could be in charge of anything.

"You see Jonas, circumstances have changed drastically," Richard continued as he opened up the briefcase. He began to rifle through the papers inside, removing a few stapled documents a few seconds later before setting them on the desk by the case.

Jonas glanced at the documents yet couldn't really gather much from the mostly plain front covers on them. They appeared to be some sort of documents, each file relating to some other topic. The one on the top of the pile was labelled 'ITEM #072'. It occurred to Jonas that 'Item #072' was in fact the name of the item that had been put on the convoy the night before.

"That's why Plan B's being put into action," Richard said, closing the briefcase and returning his gaze towards Jonas. "And Plan B actually includes the full cooperation of you and the MNU lackeys you control."

Jonas heard this and firmed up his scowl.

"Cooperation? From me?" Jonas was incredulous as to the sheer nerve of this man and whoever he was working for. Richard couldn't just walk into his office and start ordering everyone around! Did Richard have any idea about who he was talking to?

Maybe he did and maybe he just didn't care. Richard had a smirk on his face, keeping up that cheerful mood that was currently annoying the hell out of Jonas. Jonas had little to be happy about, especially with all that was going on: there were the Nigerians operating in District 9's remaining areas for one and then there was the rise in insurgency actions from the prawns. And then there was the whole hatred much of the world population had against MNU right now that was only furthering Jonas' uncertainty in the future of his job. Sure, there was little chance that MNU would be closed down but there was a chance that MNU's South Africa branch would be closed down…and thus Jonas would be without a job. He didn't want that to happen.

"I don't even know what's going on!" Jonas was getting angry now. Richard simply remained unfazed, keeping on his smile as Jonas proceeded to slam one clenched fist angrily onto the desk.

"First, you call me in the middle of the night and threaten to blackmail me…Then you start ordering me around as if I'm some goon of yours…And then the convoy you made me set up gets attacked and I still don't know why! Just who are you, Richard Houser? Who do you work for and why are you suddenly so interested in what we're doing here?"

Richard smiled again. Jonas resisted the urge to punch him in the face in order to allow him to reply.

"Jonas buddy, there are a few things you have to understand: for one, you're not a popular man. There are plenty of powerful people who would love to see you and your MNU brought down after what happened back in 2010. Secondly, the organization I represent has always been interested in what's been going on down here in South Africa. I mean, who wouldn't be interested when there are aliens involved?" Richard paused, grinning. "I believe you call them 'prawns' down here, though. I doubt they taste anything like prawns…"

Jonas managed to calm himself a little, thinking that it was just the stress of his job and MNU's current crises that were getting to him. It most definitely was since the more he thought of all the crap he was having to deal with recently he realized just how much he had been weighed down in his work. Dealing with a constant barrage of abuse whenever he walked by a crowd of protestors or even people in the street was probably having some effect on his state of mind as well.

"Thirdly, I have come here with an offer that…well, it's an offer you simply _can't refuse_." He smiled, realizing he had spouted a cliché and that it amused him. Jonas only rolled his eyes, his perception of Richard Houser as a fool only growing.

"The original scheme was to get what we wanted within a minimal amount of time and with minimal involvement with your corporation," Richard explained, losing his smile as he thought on the previous night's stuff up. He was talking about it as if it deserved to be mourned: their "original scheme" had effectively been figuratively flushed down the toilet thanks to the events of the previous night.

"It was a while in the planning, mind you," Richard continued, sounding proud of his organization's devotion to their schemes, "but we were careful enough to come up with a few other plans. Plan B, as I'm about to discuss with you, is just one of them…and it's possibly the most interesting of our schemes so far. Not only will it provide the most reward but it will also provide an opportunity for you to retire early…"

Jonas lost his scowl and raised an eyebrow instead. Richard was smiling but rather than annoy him this time Jonas was intrigued. Was Richard implying that there would be money involved?

"The reason for the blackmail over the phone was just so you would know that I and the organization I represent mean business. Not me nor anyone in my organization could give two shits if you were having an affair with someone other than your wife or if you were selling weapons to Arab extremist groups. Sure, we have the blackmail material but no one's going to see it, especially after what happened last night." Richard paused, letting his words sink into Jonas before continuing.

"So, the convoy…That's what you're here about?" Jonas frowned again. Despite the good vibes he was beginning to receive he was still more or less in the dark about whatever Richard was proposing and about Item #072.

"Good guess, Jonas!" Richard said this like an annoying game show host. "That's what I'm here about! The convoy!"

He lost the game show host voice then and there as he went on to discuss and make clear a few things that Jonas had been trying to work out.

"The original scheme was to get the item my organization wanted without getting too involved with you or MNU," Richard explained, "My superiors had decided that the last few days had made an excellent window of opportunity to get to recovering the item, a window made even smaller by a tip-off we received from one of our…uh, 'men' at District 10."

Jonas raised an eyebrow. Now just what was Richard implying? Did he actually have prawns working for him?

"What kind of 'men' are you talking about?" Jonas asked, "spies? Informants?"

"Prawns," Richard asked, "you can get them to do anything for you if you give them enough cat food. That stuff is like cocaine to them…and some even end up dying from it. A cat food overdose! Can you believe that?" He laughed before going back on topic immediately afterwards.

If whoever Richard worked for had influence amongst the prawns then that could mean that they knew about the rebellions and the insurgency and may even be in a position to aid MNU. Jonas realized that Richard was here now not because he wanted to get MNU in on whatever his organization was planning but because they were out of options and that MNU was their only ticket to what they wanted…whatever that was. Jonas didn't say anything about this, preferring to let Richard continue with explaining the scheme.

"Apparently somebody's been getting these aliens organized," Richard said, "spreading the seeds of rebellion, getting access to weapons and equipment…And that this tip-off revealed that these rebels knew about Item 072…"

"And just what is Item 072?" Jonas delivered the question abruptly, interrupting Richard mid-sentence. Richard looked at him, taking a moment to reply.

"It's something your corporation had been sitting on ever since the prawns arrived back in the 80's," Richard replied, his tone a little more serious than usual.

He picked up the file lying on top of the pile and handed it to Jonas (it was the one labelled 'ITEM #072'. Jonas flicked through it, being treated to a few large high clarity photographs of just what the item was.

It was cylindrical in its general shape yet it had a sort of dome section on one side. This dome section appeared to be constructed of some high density near transparent glass, coloured an ocean blue. Metal tubes and valves covered the sides while a control panel that was covered with alien symbols was on the base of the front. It certainly looked alien but it was hard to be genuinely sure just by looking at some photos. Anyone could have made it but something told Jonas that this was not a fake. Whatever it was it reminded him of those sorts cryogenic suspension tubes that would often be in science fiction movies or television shows or novels…and maybe that was what it was. Some sort of stasis tube, one that contained something…He didn't know what it could have been.

"What is it?" He asked, shifting his gaze back towards Richard. As much as he distrusted Richard Houser he couldn't help but be intrigued about what he was hearing.

"The thing that was on that convoy," Richard said. He paused again before continuing with the explanation. "You see, at the end of 2010 one of my organization's tech specialists located the information concerning that item kept in the basement levels of this very building while hacking MNU's databases. He made sure to copy all the relevant information before erasing it off your databases…" He smiled when Jonas shot him a mean glare. "Sorry about that…it was just at the time it seemed that MNU would be shutdown."

"We weren't."

"And all the better then!" Richard exclaimed suddenly, "Because now, with things as they are, both my organization and MNU can work together! Not only do we have to locate that item but my superiors have decided to help you do something about the rising insurgency. If we find Item 072 we can find whoever started this rebellion. The prawns, you see, aren't stupid. Far from it, in fact."

Jonas had heard that before. He preferred to regard the prawns as inferior (they most definitely were in his opinion) and no better than mere animals. They weren't civilized, they didn't have human values or ethics…They were just stupid or violent or both. Stupidly violent wasn't a good combination.

"Just what are you saying?" Jonas asked, putting the file down onto the desk. He would read it later, when he wasn't caught up with talking to Richard.

"I'm saying we revive MNU's cancelled illegal genetics research," Richard said, that smile of his reappearing on his face, "Except this time things will be different. You see, the researchers that work for the organization I represent have since discovered a few things your MNU scientists missed."

Revive the research? Jonas went wide-eyed. How could they possibly do that? MNU was being watched by people who were determined to ensure that they did not repeat the research in the prawns that they had been carrying out until the trials. Starting up a whole genetics research program would get noticed by watch dog groups and once more MNU would be in trouble. Jonas didn't want to lose his job, yet reviving the illegal genetics research program would probably make that happen.

"And just what did MNU miss?" Jonas asked, "Because I was in on that research. I even helped plan out the program. It was simple really: capture a few prawns, run some tests, dissect them and find out how their weaponry worked only for them and no one else."

"We all know how successful _that_ was," Richard said mockingly.

Jonas swallowed. It had certainly been a waste of time in the end and to top it off it had almost brought down the whole of MNU. And now this man, Richard Houser, was making it sound as if whatever organization he worked for had actually been successful.

"You've succeeded?" Jonas shook his head. "Bullshit."

Richard only nodded apologetically.

"We did succeed…in one area. The very one your scientists failed to notice."

Richard picked up another of the files and handed it to Jonas. Jonas took it with a frown of doubt on his face although that frown quickly turned to a look of confusion when he saw the label on the front. The file was labelled 'DNA ALTERATION'. What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was fairly vague and could have meant anything so in order to clarify things a little Jonas opened the file and began to skim through its contents. He was met with a picture of a narrow metal cylinder on the first page, followed by a few large paragraphs that were full of scientific jargon that he couldn't really make sense of.

"I'm sure you know Wikus van de Merwe?" Richard asked.

Jonas snapped the file shut upon hearing this name. Not only had that man caused all of the trouble that MNU was in now but he had been responsible for the deaths of many MNU mercenaries. Where he was now was unknown but many considered him the sole cause of MNU's miseries.

"I can tell from the look on your face that you do," Richard said, grinning. "Then I'm sure you're familiar with what happened to him? The whole 'changing into a prawn' thing that had all of your scientists jumping with glee?"

"Yes, I know about that…"

"And how he escaped?"

"Yes…"

"And how he disappeared, taking with him the one hope of working out how to make that army of super soldiers wielding alien weaponry that you've always dreamed of?"

"Yes…"

"Well, just ask yourself this question: _How_ did it happen, Jonas? How did he start to change the way he did?"

Jonas thought about this for a moment or two. He rummaged through the mess of memories he had that had to do with the whole Wikus business. And there was one thing that cropped into his mind, a detail that had at the time been fairly insignificant and soon forgotten…

"That cylinder in that photo, Jonas," Richard said, his voice starting to rise with anticipation on what was to be said, "None of your scientists got a chance to thoroughly check out that cylinder, did they? Because if they had they would have discovered one very important fact…"

"And what would that have been?" Jonas was once more intrigued, regardless of Richard's untrustworthiness.

"The fact that it was full of the fuel that powers the prawn ship," Richard said, "and that it was the stuff that poor old Mr. Van de Merwe was exposed to, thus starting his change. It's what caused it, Jonas. Thus, it's the answer to the research MNU was forced to abandon."

Jonas realized what Richard was getting at and simply smiled, sort of like Richard. This smile quickly disappeared when he remembered one very major snag.

"That cylinder is gone," Jonas said, remembering what had happened rather clearly, "Wikus and some prawn broke in and shot the basement laboratories up…They took it and now it's gone and it's been gone for almost two and a half years, close to three even. I'm pretty sure looking for it is going to be in vain."

Surprisingly enough Richard was completely unfazed by this fact. Rather, he seemed to have been expecting to hear it.

"Jonas, I thought you would know better!" Richard shook his head, chuckling. "I didn't come all the way down to South Africa just to start looking for something that's since left the planet. No, I'm just giving you the necessary background information.

"You see, some of the scientists in the organization I work for have speculated about the prawns and their true nature. It seems like a fairly logical assumption that the ones stuck on Earth are the workers, sort of like worker ants in a colony. That's why most of them are pretty stupid with only rudimentary intelligence.

"But what happened to the leaders, the ones that do the thinking and obviously design the ships and weaponry? Where did they all go? And if the prawns came here for benevolent reasons why did they bring with them a whole load of weaponry and a substance capable of altering human DNA? Ask yourself those questions Jonas and you'll begin to see that some things just don't add up."

Jonas listened and soaked up Richard's words carefully. He was making some good points, especially when it came to the unknown fate of the alien leaders and the true purpose that the prawns had travelled to Earth with. Obviously whatever purpose the prawns leadership might have had had since been forgotten although the legacy (lack of leadership, advanced weaponry) was still around.

"And Item 072 fits into this because the scientists in the organization I work for have spent the last three years studying the prawns and their technology. Some of them had even been in the ship before its departure. We made a few neat little conclusions that you may find interesting," Richard explained, now in full gear.

"Enlighten me," Jonas said, deciding that he would take whatever Richard said from here on in with a grain of salt. There was still something about Richard that he didn't like, something past the man's confident aura and terrible fashion sense that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"The prawn leadership probably consisted of a few smart, thinking prawns that were probably slightly different in physiology to the lower-class workers. They were on the ship, perhaps scouting around or perhaps with the intention of coming to Earth and…I don't know, subjugating the human race, stripping our planet of resources…Who the hell knows for sure? The ship may have even been a mining ship, although the amount of weapons on board seemed to indicate otherwise…"

"Can you just get to the point?" Jonas asked.

"I'm getting there so quit being so impatient," Richard said, slightly annoyed at the interruption. Once he was sure Jonas was listening he continued, his voice picking up in pace as he spoke.

"This ship was perhaps piloted by that prawn, Christopher Johnson," Richard said, "it seems safe to assume that he was one of the smarter ones and had the qualifications to fly it. After all, he did fly it off of Earth so maybe he was the one who flew it here in the first place.

"Anyway, as I was saying the prawns may have come here for some reason, whatever that was. That's not the point, though. The point is to do with the alien leadership: what happened to them? Did the ship have a Captain or a Commander or just a 'boss'? If so, what happened to him? Maybe the prawn leadership on that ship caught a disease and died. It seems safe to assume that something did happen to them, something that was bad enough to force one of them into stasis…"

"Hang on," Jonas said, realizing what Richard was getting at, "Are you saying that Item 072 contains…"

"A dead alien," Richard finished, "Whatever was keeping that lead prawn alive has since failed. Instead, what we have is a big cylinder full of the prawn's eventual by-product: the black fluid or fuel or whatever it is. The reason Item 072 was stored away was because your scientists had no means to find out what was inside since back in the 80s very little was known about the prawns. You could say that Item 072 was simply forgotten about.

"Now that we know the real nature of what it contains we can exploit it. With access to the black fluid we can find out how to transfer the genetic trait that enables the prawns to use their weaponry into humans and…ta-dah!" He reached into the pile of papers and retrieved a picture of a soldier outfitted in futuristic looking armour wielding what was obviously an alien gun. It was computer generated, thus it wasn't quite a "real" photo.

"Instant super soldiers!" Richard exclaimed happily, "With this sort of thing at our disposal we'll make billions from selling it to whoever's willing to pay…and trust me Jonas, there'll be a lot of groups willing to pay up big bucks."

Jonas smiled. Now the confidence he had once had concerning the genetics research had returned. It struck him how Richard's organization was willing to work with MNU only after their original plan had failed. Item 072 was in the hands of the prawn insurgents who had attacked the convoy last night, so how on Earth would they get it back from the prawns?

"It's all about the money, Jonas," Richard said, "All we have to do is get that stasis pod back. It's literally overflowing with that special alien fluid but fortunately for anyone stupid enough to get exposed it only works on certain people. It took some time to isolate the specific genetic trait required to incite a successful transformation but I've already compiled a list of people who may make good candidates…All of them from this very branch of MNU, just to make things easier for ourselves."

He retrieved another paper from the file and handed it to Jonas. The plan was pretty obvious but Jonas read through the dozen or so names on the list, recognizing one or two of them.

"We form a specialist team out of those people," Richard said, his excited tone dying down a little, "They're going to investigate the rising prawn insurgency. And they're going to help restore MNU's once proud public image. Not only that but the team's going to consist of the people on that list…All of them notable in their particular line of work and all of them potential test subjects once we get that stasis pod back. It shouldn't be too difficult to do since you'll have my organization's information to work with. Already one of our informants has gotten back to us with a possible lead and this team will follow up on it."

"A team?" Jonas frowned. "A team that's more or less going to be there for the public image?"

"You bet!" Richard replied bluntly and rather cheerfully before adding, "And it'll make exposing the first lot of test subjects much easier and more convenient."

Jonas could only agree with the logic in the plan. Form a team as a public relations stunt, one dedicated to investigating the prawn insurgency and finding a means of quelling it and allowing the general population to live in safety once again, without fear of being attacked by disgruntled prawns armed with advanced weaponry. The team itself would consist of people who would in turn make good test subjects when Item #072 was eventually found and their disappearances could be attributed to a prawn attack or something. Jonas was fairly certain that the plan was foolproof.

"My organization is willing to work with you and cut you fifty percent of all profits made from the deals made with nations and private organizations when we finally start rolling out the super soldiers…Just as long as there's no double-crossing or backstabbing." Richard sounded rather happy. Jonas could only feel the same.

"As an added condition I'm having one of my own men brought in to lead this team," Richard said, "he's an ex-Colonel and a Green Beret. His name's Francis Keller. He's one of the most reliable mercenaries I have at my disposal."

_You're in charge of some mercenaries?_ Jonas found this thought somewhat amusing when he saw Richard and his seemingly idiot persona. Sure, he had brought forward an excellent scheme but only because the first one had failed. The original scheme to do with the convoy and its special cargo would have left MNU without any rewards from it. It was only because it had stuffed up that Richard and his organization had decided to actually cut MNU in since they couldn't find Item #072 without their help. Jonas could choose to not go along with the plan and yet have enough information to start an investigation into finding Item #072.

"What do you say, Jonas?" Richard asked, awaiting his answer with an expectant gaze. He held out his right hand again with the obvious intention of shaking with Jonas. "Are we going to work together on this?"

"Who do you work for?" Jonas asked, ignoring the gesture to shake hands.

Richard shook his head.

"That's irrelevant," Richard replied.

_Typical._ Richard had secrets but then again so did everybody else. If he didn't want to reveal who he was working for then that was find with Jonas. He would find out eventually, one war or another.

"I'll set up this specialist group," Jonas said, deciding to get straight to business, "You do whatever it is you have to do."

Richard brought back his open hand and nodded appreciatively. Things were being set into motion now.

"That's excellent to hear, Jonas," Richard said, "I have a feeling that this is the start of a wonderful business relationship."

Jonas could only think of his coming early retirement that the billions of dollars in arms contracts would net him and Richard's organization. Richard would have to share his fifty percent cut of the profits throughout his organization whiles Jonas would only have himself to spend his fifty own fifty percent on…In other words, Jonas was getting the better deal yet Richard didn't seem bothered by this fact. Either he didn't realize it or he was getting paid enough already or he didn't care.

Jonas suddenly felt like a drink and remembered the glass jug of sour orange juice he had left out on the table on the balcony.

"Would you care for some orange juice, Richard?" He asked.


	5. Lukas

**Lukas  
**Johannesburg, South Africa  
June 10th, 2013  
0700 Hours

Morning sunlight filtered through the gaps between the dark blue curtains over at the bedroom window. One particular stream of sunlight had landed directly upon Lukas Farber's eyes, stirring him from sleep. He turned his head and groaned, barely conscious.

Lukas was about thirty-three and was of an average size for a man of his type. He was well-built since he made sure to exercise regularly, something that had proven to be difficult in recent years due to his increasing workload from his job in Multinational United (better known as MNU). He didn't like the idea of getting fat and made sure to put some time aside for a jog or something workout related, just as long as it kept the kilograms off and allowed him to keep his decent looking agile frame.

He had a well-maintained set of short dark brown hair and a pair of eyes that had the colour to match. His facial features were somewhat ordinary for there were no real discerning marks of any kind. By today he had developed some slight stubble at the chin but this could be easily shaved, all he had to do was put some time aside in order to carry out the task.

Lukas Farber had been living in South Africa for about ten years, having been sent here due to his job in MNU. He was an engineer, the type who dealt specifically with designing some of the corporation's products. This included weapons and thus over the last few years Lukas had handled some of the alien weapons but as with all humans they were useless. Something to do with DNA encoding, he wasn't sure. Genetics wasn't his specialty.

Currently he was working on a project to do with implementing a new sort of stun prod, one that was easily portable and was effective against the aliens (or "prawns" as most people called them). It wasn't much of a project but it was a line of work that paid well, regardless of what use the things he designed would be put towards.

He had already had a large part in designing some of MNU's more high-tech equipment which usually came in the form of weaponry. Lukas had never seen himself as becoming a sort of weapons engineer but it had ended up happening anyway, especially within the last six years or so. In fact, Lukas had become a bit of an expert all thanks to the projects his MNU bosses had placed him on. He had been considered one of the best engineers MNU had here in South Africa but Lukas, being the modest person he was tried to not let his popularity get to his head.

He hailed from Austria originally, born to a British father and Austrian mother. His father had been an engineer and Lukas had followed in his footsteps, getting a well-paid job in MNU which had supplied him with the money to get a lot of the things he had always wanted. Ten years ago he had moved into Johannesburg, having been appointed to a team of engineers and assorted researchers that were to work on the prawn weaponry and attempt to reverse-engineer its technology. It had been the type of top secret project that had left Lukas with a healthy amount of pay and had introduced him to many of the people he was friends with now.

He had met the woman who had later become his wife six years ago while working on that top secret project. She had been an advisor on the whole reverse-engineering project (which had in turn been closed down after the court trials MNU had faced). Her name was Katherine Tyler, an American woman who had been sent down to South Africa for much the same reason as Lukas had been. They had married a year after having met and they had had a daughter five years ago who they had named Lyssa.

Katherine lay on her side next to him in the bed, still fast asleep. She was only a year younger than Lukas, dark haired and blue eyed. She was of an average build, not too fat and not to skinny. Some might have said that she was way out of Lukas' league (maybe she was) but they had been happily married for five years so perhaps she wasn't so out of his league. She was indeed beautiful, definitely the most striking woman Lukas had ever seen...It occurred to him that he would have to think that considering that he was married to her.

Work lately had gotten surprisingly hard. The workload had increased significantly, primarily because of the downsizing that had been going on all throughout MNU's Johannesburg branch. Plenty of colleagues had been sacked as the MNU higher-ups made budget cuts here and there. MNU had since lost a number of assets after the big fiasco that was the illegal genetics research trials a few years ago and thus they had lost a fair bit of money, especially in South Africa. Lukas was lucky enough to have been far too good at his job to have been sacked or "made redundant". He was confident that the only way he would lose his job was if MNU itself was shutdown, a possibility that was increasing in likelihood of happening every day. He was reminded of it every time he arrived at the headquarters building for work, his car often being pelted with empty soft drink cans and other assorted rubbish launched at him by the protestors that grouped outside. He had learned to take a rear entrance to avoid it but even now there were protestors gathered at the rear of the building, making sure to interfere with all of the buildings main exits and entrances. MNU goons had done their best to ward off the protestors but made sure to never resort to extreme violence since doing so would only make things worse. Thus the protestors always came back. Lukas often recognized some of them from previous days and it occurred to him that it always seemed to be the same group of people standing outside where he walked into the building.

Despite the good pay work had become somewhat boring lately, especially with the rather uninteresting projects he had been made to work on. Who seriously wanted to help make a stun prod? He had grown accustomed to working on far more interesting and often secret projects but now he had been more or less demoted to less interesting things. This was understandable since MNU had been forced to cease most of its secret projects after the trials but even so it did always manage to make Lukas feel nostalgic whenever he thought about it, thinking back to the "good old days" in the "old MNU". The new Director, Jonas Locaheen, seemed less capable of running the South Africa branch of his corporation than the man who he had replaced.

Lukas was now the one bringing the money into the household since his wife, Katherine, had given up her job in order to raise their daughter and become a typical housewife. Lukas made sure to help out around the house as well but often his work would get in the way of that and the quality time he wanted to spend with his family. In fact, the current workload was actually beginning to stress him out and up until recent years he had always managed to keep a cool head. Now he feared he was beginning to lose this grip of himself, something that he had noticed often made him a bit moody. No doubt Katherine noticed this as well and naturally she was concerned but Lukas knew he would get a grip eventually…he hoped.

He lay with his head on its side, staring towards the wall and away from the window on the other side of the bedroom where the sunlight was streaming in. The curtains there were closed but there was a sizeable gap in between the two halves that did allow some sunlight to filter inside, the beams landing right on Lukas' head. For some reason they did that every morning, no matter how he closed the curtains they did it every morning. It was an occurrence that he was already tired of but knew he couldn't do without. It had become part of his routine, to wake up with the sunlight glaring into his face while Katherine slept peacefully next to him.

And abruptly and somewhat annoying the alarm clock radio on the bedside table near his head came into life, some old 1950s rockabilly song glaring through the speakers. Through the haze that had fallen upon his mind as it struggled out of sleep he managed to recognize the song as Elvis Presley…And he immediately reached out and switched it off with one hand, noticing the big red digital 7:00 that was displayed on the clock's readout. Underneath was the date in DD/MM/YYYY format as well as the name of the day: 10/06/2013, Monday.

It was Monday and as always was the case on a Monday he didn't feel like getting up. Yesterday he, his wife and plenty of his colleagues from work had had a barbecue in his house in order to celebrate Derrick Johnson's fifty-fourth birthday. Derrick Johnson was Lukas' boss, a grumpy engineer who didn't seem to like anybody much. They had dragged him over to the barbecue and had embarrassed him greatly since Derrick had never liked parties. He had been suitably red-faced the whole time, especially when people started giving him gifts. The barbecue had finished up soon enough but the conversations and the card games had gone on for hours, continuing well into the evening. Lukas knew he should have known better than to go to sleep so late when he had to wake up fairly early the next morning but still he had done it and now he was paying for it.

He was about to fall asleep again when Katherine shifted in the bed, rolling onto her side in order to face him. The alarm clock radio had obviously woken her up.

"You should start getting ready for work," Katherine said, her voice somewhat soft. She was still half-asleep, having been disturbed by the overly loud alarm clock radio.

Lukas looked at her, trying to shake himself into some sort of stable state of consciousness. The longer he kept his head on the pillow the more he felt like dozing off again.

"Maybe," Lukas replied, staring up at the ceiling which was a shade that was a cross between brown and beige. It was the sort of colour common in regular households and was easy on the eyes.

"Or maybe I could call in sick just so I can stay with you for the day?" Lukas turned his head and looked into Katherine's blue eyes. They were definitely one of her more striking aspects. She seemed to have the uncanny ability to put anyone at ease with those eyes…Lukas could feel the effects of her gaze already.

"You did that last Monday, remember?" She smiled when she realized that he didn't remember.

"I did?" Lukas tried to sort through the mess that was his memory, finding it impossible to isolate anything in particular. It was too early in the morning to do any hard thinking.

"You did."

Lukas sat up slowly, rubbing the matter that had developed at the corners of his eyes. He was still far too tired to really expend much effort yet he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep now that he was awake, even if he tried. There was getting to work that was currently high on his list of priorities since it often took him an hour to get ready (he liked to take his time) and half an hour to get through the morning rush hour traffic. He needed to check in at the office by nine o'clock in order to not be late. He had been late enough times in the past and was trying his best to pick up his game when it came to getting to work on time.

"I'm sure I can get away with it again," Lukas said. What had they done last Monday? They had sent Lyssa to school and he and his wife had spent most of the day spending quality time together.

"They can't fire me," Lukas continued, "They've done that enough already. They fire anyone else and chances are the whole engineering department will collapse…"

Katherine looked up at him through half-closed eyes. She had the obvious intention of falling back asleep and was close to achieving it now. Lukas realized that he was simply keeping her up.

"Am I keeping you up?" Lukas asked.

"Yeah…"

"Sorry."

Lukas stepped off of the bed, stepped over to the wardrobe nearby and opened it. He removed a clean set of work clothes (a light blue long-sleeved business suit, matching tie and some grey pants) before putting them on, doing up the shirt's buttons carefully and doing up the buckle at his pant's belt so that the pants sat comfortably at his waist. He completed the look with some typical black business shoes before picking up his mobile phone from where it lay on the bedside table. He checked if there were any messages on it (there were none) before slipping it into a pocket in his trousers.

He looked down at Katherine and saw that she had fallen asleep again. He left her alone as he turned around and headed out of the bedroom, making his way through the kitchen (with a window that looked out upon the suburbs outside). Sunlight streamed in and glinted off of the stainless steel stove and marble topped bench.

The house was a double-storey, large in size and practically forming the perfect family home. Upstairs his daughter Lyssa was asleep in her bedroom while down here in the kitchen the family cat, a three year old dark tabby by the name of Tibbits lay asleep on a fluffy cat bed in one corner. Tibbits awoke upon Lukas' entrance into the kitchen but he didn't shift from where he lay, opening both eyes and watching Lukas carefully as he walked by.

Lukas filled Tibbits' bowl with some fresh dry and refilled his water bowl. Tibbits didn't get up, simply mewing at Lukas in a disgruntled manner. Tibbits wasn't exactly the happiest cat around, only content with his existence if it meant he could remain lying around and doing nothing all day. Then again most cats were like that, spending most of their time asleep than anything else.

"You're going to have to get out of bed to eat that, fatso," Lukas said, trying to not send his voice into that child-like tone most people ended up with whenever they were faced with a cute animal.

Tibbits meowed again.

"Yeah, I know…Life's tough, isn't it?" Lukas asked. The cat didn't answer.

Tibbits didn't get out of bed and wouldn't for another hour. Instead he shifted his gaze away from Lukas and towards a spot of wall across the room, staring intently at it in that stern cat manner. Lukas left the moggie be as he went to the front door, opening it and proceeding down the path that went across the front lawn. He checked the mailbox and found somewhat unsurprisingly a few bills and some assorted junk mail. Returning to the house he tossed the junk mail that didn't interest him into a bin in the corner of the kitchen before setting the bills down on the kitchen table. He would deal with them later as he always did, sorting them into appropriate groups and making whatever payments were necessary.

It wouldn't be hard to work out that Lukas and his family had a relatively easy life. They had plenty of money thanks to Lukas' engineering work with MNU and they had a nice house, a nice enough family pet and plenty of friends in the area.

Life had been a little more interesting when the prawns had been in residence over in District 9 (some still were apparently but no longer in a big way). Sure, the suburban area where Lukas resided was some distance away from any sort of slum but still there had been encounters with disgruntled prawns. District 9 had been an open slum and despite the signs dictating otherwise plenty of the aliens had managed to get loose in the city. A few had even broken into the backyard once and Lukas had needed to call city services in order to get them removed. He had watched as the group of equally disgruntled city services workers had needed to tranquilize all three prawns and cart them off in the back of a truck in order to get them back to District 9.

Lukas had never thought highly of the prawns. His wife had been more sympathetic towards them than most people and had often attended meetings with equal rights groups. Lukas had often been forced to listen to her ramblings about how the prawns were an intelligent race and deserved better blah blah blah…Lukas simply nodded his head and humoured his wife when she got started on the subject. The amount of these talks had decreased ever since the mass eviction that had seen most of the prawns moved out to District 10. Still, when she got started she didn't stop for a long time.

Lukas found the morning newspaper still rolled up and bundled in plastic, lying on the front lawn near the door. He collected it and took it back into the house, removing the plastic it and being met with an unsurprising front page headline: 'ATTACKS INCREASE, PUBLIC URGED TO REMAIN VIGILANT'. The large size picture showed some sort of wreckage, perhaps of a truck while several gun-toting MNU mercenaries stood near it. The article concerned the rising amounts of attacks against humans that the prawns had been carrying out lately, although anyone with some degree of intelligence would have worked out by now that the prawns were concentrating on attacking MNU and little else. The prawns were obviously smart enough to work out who there main oppressors were.

An anti-terrorism hotline had even been set up to deal with this sort of thing. They were probably getting a lot of false alarms thanks to the xenophobia most people in Johannesburg had against the prawns. Lukas wasn't concerned too much about all of this insurgency and apparent rebellion from the aliens, just as long as the prawns left him and his family alone. If it was MNU they were after that made Lukas a viable target but he doubted anything would happen to him.

As was beginning to become common most of the newspaper had articles relating to recent occurrences to do with the aliens. There were all sorts of mostly biased articles about how the prawns were becoming rampant across the countryside and how District 10 was failing in its job of keeping them out of everybody's way. There were apparently prawns loose out in the South African countryside, doing God only knew what. Their population was growing almost exponentially as more and more uncontrolled births occurred. By "uncontrolled" this meant that there were no MNU people around to destroy all but a few of the prawn larvae like there had been in the past, during the so-called "glory days" of District 9. District 10 was becoming more of a township than ever and this worried people. Some believed that one day the prawns may actually start a full-scale revolution, something that was evidenced by the rising insurgency.

Lukas wasn't interested in most of what was in the newspaper and so closed it, leaving it on the table for his wife to read when she got up (that was if she actually wanted to read it). He made his way over to the kitchen bench and went through his daily routine of making himself breakfast, preparing a bowl of cereal and a couple of slices of toast. He ate it rather quickly (he had always been a fast eater) and washed his dishes.

By the time he had brushed his teeth, shaved and combed his hair it was nearing eight o'clock in the morning. Katherine was seated out in the kitchen, dressed in a tight-fitting short-sleeved blue shirt and jeans. She was reading through the newspaper while eating from a bowl of cereal, her concentration absorbed in whatever article she was reading.

"Nice reading, don't you think?" Lukas asked as he re-entered the kitchen.

Katherine looked up, saw him and frowned. She tapped the picture on the page of the newspaper she had opened, shaking her head. It showed what was clearly an alien "prawn" being held at gunpoint.

"You do realize this is all just propaganda?" She asked, "No doubt set up by MNU."

"I work for MNU, and you did as well," Lukas said. He could see she was about to start on another one of her lengthy talks about the welfare of the prawns and the way they were being oppressed.

"I quit and…"

"And that's when you got interested in this 'equal rights for aliens' stuff," Lukas finished. Katherine kept her frown as she gave him a careful gaze, trying to work out what he was thinking.

"They're treating them like dirt," she continued, "They're always finding new ways to pin the blame on them for something they didn't do. No doubt the one in this picture is going to wind up dead in a gutter somewhere."

"You know, I really have to get going," Lukas said, deciding he had heard enough. He didn't want to be late for work just because his wife had started on another of her rants, something that was close to occurring from what he could tell.

"Aren't you going to say goodbye to your daughter?" Katherine asked.

"Of course I will," Lukas answered. He had almost forgotten about Lyssa…He did always manage to say goodbye to her every morning but most times this was because his wife had reminded him about her. Sometimes Lukas got so caught up in his own thoughts that he simply forgot about her. He felt like an idiot because of this.

"And are you going to say goodbye to me?" Katherine had lost the frown and was looking at him expectantly.

Lukas stepped forwards and gently kissed her on the cheek. She had put on some new perfume, something sweet yet musty underneath. Katherine had the habit of always smelling nice, no matter how early it was in the morning.

"You bet I will," Lukas said, "And I'm not about to forget about or daughter as well, you know…"

The phone on the table in the far corner of the room started to ring. Lukas stood upright and exchanged glances with his wife as the two tried to work out who would pick it up. Lukas figured he would do it since it might be someone from work…It wasn't uncommon for someone from work to call at this time in the morning and when they did it was usually because something important had come up.

Lukas stepped to where the ringing phone lay and picked it up, holding it to his ear. He didn't get a chance to say any sort of hello when Derrick Johnson's grumpy and stern voice broke in across the line.

"_Lukas, is that you?"_

"Yeah Derrick, it's me…" Lukas could only wonder as to why his boss was calling him. It might have been about their current project or it might have been because he was being sacked…Lukas didn't think it was the latter since he was quite certain that he was needed in MNU's engineering department.

"_Well, for starters I'd like to thank you for the party you held for me yesterday…"_ Derrick's voice had taken on a rather forced tone, as if he didn't like what he was saying. Derrick's wife had probably put him up to delivering a thank you and the best Lukas could do was play along with his boss' s forced gratitude.

"It was no problem…"

_"Whatever. I didn't call about that,"_ Derrick interrupted, seizing the chance to steer the topic of conversation towards business.

"Then what did you call about?" Lukas asked. He looked towards Katherine and saw that she wasn't listening in, keeping her gaze on the opened newspaper in front of her. She was probably listening in as well…Women like her was god at multi-tasking.

"_I'm at the office now, as you would know,"_ Derrick explained. He was always at the office a good hour before anyone else, primarily because his job as the manager of the engineering department called for such early hours. He was a busy man, that Derrick Johnson.

"_And I've been told to tell you that you don't need to check in today,"_ Derrick said.

Lukas felt his heart skip a beat when the meaning behind the words struck him. _Don't need to check in?_ Did that mean he had been fired? If so, why? He was fairly certain that he was too good to be fired…

"I've been sacked?" Lukas delivered the question carefully, keeping his voice level. What would he do if he had been sacked? He wasn't too sure, except that it would involve breaking something.

Derrick laughed, whether because he found Lukas' reaction amusing or because Lukas had misunderstood him. It turned out to be the latter.

"_No Lukas, you haven't been sacked,"_ he replied, probably shaking his head as he said it. _"In fact, I think you've been promoted. Director Lochaeen himself told me to deliver the news to you."_

Director Jonas Lochaeen was promoting him? Lukas frowned. Why would he do that?

"_It's come as short notice, I know but it seems something important came up on the Director's plate a few days ago and he wants you and a bunch of other people at the main meeting hall at nine thirty. He wanted me to pass the information onto you before you left for work in order to get things moving along faster. He made it out to be _very_ urgent so I think you'd best do as your told…"_

Lukas didn't know what to think. Did this mean he was moving up in MNU? Possibly. If so that meant he would probably have more work ahead of him but a much better payroll. With the improved payroll he may be able to Katherine the swimming pool in the backyard she had always wanted, mainly because one of their neighbours had one.

"Did he say what it was about?" Lukas asked.

"_He didn't give away many details but he did tell me that it's something to do with some new specialist team…I'm not sure but something tells me he's nabbing people from all departments to form some kind of new unit. No doubt he needs a good engineer and you're it."_

Lukas wasn't sure whether he should be excited or not. What kind of new "specialist team" did MNU need anyway? They already had plenty of them. If Derrick was right then MNU was making one comprising of skilled people from all of their departments and Lukas just happened to be the one nabbed from engineering…

"_So, make sure you're at the main meeting hall by nine thirty. Don't bother showing up at engineering today, alright?"_

"Right…"

_"Good. I'll see you later."_

In his typical fashion Derrick abruptly hung up the phone, leaving Lukas listening to nothing but the faint hiss of an empty line for about a minute. Lukas put the phone back into the receiver, thinking over what he had just been told very carefully.

He didn't feel any particular emotions. Rather, he was just confused. If the Director wanted to form some new specialist team he would have done it over weeks of planning and preparation and not suddenly on the spot as it seemed to be now. Something didn't quite add up about it but Lukas had no idea what. Instead, he was reassured by the fact that the pay would no doubt be better and the work more interesting.

"Who was it?" Katherine asked, looking up from the newspaper.

"Derrick," Lukas replied as he approached the table. He remembered he still needed to pack his lunch for today, although he wasn't sure whether he would be needing it or not.

"And…?" Katherine leaned forwards, awaiting a more detailed explanation.

Lukas brought himself out of his thoughts and back into reality. He had been thinking perhaps a little too hard on the matter, realizing that if he was indeed being promoted to some new "specialist team" he should at the very least be flattered.

"Turns out I'm being put on some new team," Lukas said, speaking carefully since he wasn't too sure of the news himself, "Derrick didn't have much information for me now but apparently I have to go to a meeting at nine thirty about it…"

"Does this mean you're being promoted?"

Lukas shrugged.

"I don't know…"

"Well, you probably are," Katherine replied bluntly. She stood up and out of her seat and stepped over to her husband, wrapping her arms around him and putting her bodily warmth with his.

Lukas felt suddenly eased by Katherine's form against his own. He glanced at the watch he wore around his left wrist and saw that he was running a bit behind his morning schedule. Still, he didn't feel like breaking free of this hug anytime soon.

"And that means you're finally coming up in the corporation," Katherine said, "soon enough you'll be the big boss and we'll have what…penthouses? Mansions? Sports cars?"

Lukas laughed and Katherine did as well.

"I doubt it," Lukas replied, "I'm just an engineer, after all."

He paused, carefully freeing himself from Katherine's embrace. She watched him carefully, wearing a smile that could light up a room.

"I really should get going," Lukas said, "I still have to pack my lunch, you know…"

"Call me once you know what's going on at work, alright?" Katherine asked, watching as Lukas hastily prepared a ham and cheese sandwich before packing it into a lunchbox.

Lukas packed an apple and a pair of muesli bars into the lunchbox with the sandwich before packing the lunchbox into his briefcase. What he was feeling now was pure neutrality and some uncertainty: what awaited him at work and why?

"I'll call you," Lukas replied, "I always do call you when I'm at work, don't I?"

Katherine nodded.

"That's how much of a caring husband I am, beautiful," Lukas added, smiling as he said it.


	6. A Meeting Part I

**A Meeting  
**MNU Headquarters, Johannesburg  
June 10th, 2013  
0925 Hours

The main meeting room was a fairly large place, filled with tables and chairs (most of which were currently vacant). A few boards were at the end of the room, covered with notices and diagrams that ranged from all sorts of topics, including cleaning up the room after you were finished with it or the main five steps in how to treat a prawn if you encountered one out on the street (1: BE POLITE BUT FIRM. 2: NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS. 3: SPEAK SLOWLY AND IN PLAIN ENGLISH. 4: AVOID EYE CONTACT. 5: CONTACT EXTRATERRESTRIAL SERVICES IF TROUBLE OCCURS.)

It had been a while since the room had seen any use and thus a lot of the notices and lists on the front boards were obsolete. There were still items up there concerning the eviction operation of the prawns from District 9 (which had been completed in early 2011). One poster was a black diagram of a prawn, pock-marked with darts that had since been thrown at it. In this very room back in 2010 a man by the name of Wikus van de Merwe had been promoted to leading the eviction operation, a chapter of MNU history that the corporation heads would rather have forgotten.

Most of the empty chairs had been pushed to the side, opening up the space in the room by a fair amount. A table was at the back covered with assorted breakfast snacks and drinks, including a glass jug of orange juice that hadn't been touched by anyone just yet. A 'NO SMOKING' sign was pasted on the back wall but still someone had taken the care to light a cigar and sit puffing on it whilst awaiting the Director to come in and start talking and telling at them.

Colonel Francis Keller sat in one of the fairly cheap plastic chairs, cigar sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he puffed gently on it. Smoke wafted from its glowing tip and dissipated as it went on towards the ceiling. The windows to one side of the room supplied plenty of warm sunlight, enough to eliminate the need of switching on the lights. The first things Keller had noticed when he had arrived in South Africa this morning had been the heat and the dry air, both of them things he wasn't too fond of but would have to get used to eventually. At about seven o'clock this morning he had received a manila folder from his boss Richard Houser, one that described the exact nature of the work he would be in charge of while in South Africa and what he should and shouldn't do. For one he would be the only member of this new "specialist team" who would actually know just why it had been formed and the real purpose behind the work it would carry out. This information was his to keep secret while he led this new team and the people that it consisted of.

Thus he knew of Item #072 and what had occurred on the night of June 2nd. The convoy transporting Item #072 from Johannesburg and towards a secure location on the South Africa-Zimbabwe border had been attacked and the special cargo had been lost. The general assumption was that the prawns had carried out this attack, especially judging from the few dead prawns found at the scene of the attack and the many dead mercenaries. From what had been discovered it seemed the attack had been very one-sided and that the MNU mercenaries had had little chance in fending it off.

Colonel Keller didn't think very highly of the mostly idiot mercenaries that MNU had at its disposal. They sure had a lot of them and they never seemed to be in short supply. There were always going to be people willing to sell their services to the highest bidder and MNU just happened to be one of the higher bidders. Keller knew he would have to treat those underneath him fairly well, especially since he was going to be working for MNU for the duration of this operation. It seemed he would get his own group of idiot mercenaries to lead and the prospect didn't appeal very highly towards him.

Keller was a Green Beret (_"These are men, America's best"_ as the song went) and he had seen an awful lot of action in numerous places across the globe. He had served in the First Gulf War in 1991 and had done his fair share of killing before moving on to more secretive operations, such as fighting terrorists and insurgent groups in the Middle East in the years that had followed. He had called it quits after a mishap with a General back in 2002 while in Afghanistan and Keller, unable to go without the danger and excitement of combat for the rest of his life had decided to become a mercenary.

And so he had, selling his services and skills to whoever was willing to pay for them. There had always been open positions in MNU's own private army of mercenaries but Keller had gone to another organization, one that supplied much more dangerous but rewarding contracts. Since 2003 Keller had been travelling the globe, assassinating targets and blowing up installations that he was being paid to destroy. Richard Houser had been one of the minor officials of the organization he worked for and had always been the one to give Keller his next job. Keller and Richard Houser were friends although even Keller distrusted a man with terrible fashion sense. Richard Houser had a habit of wearing Hawaiian shirts with other clothing that didn't work together in any way. Then again, Keller had never really trusted those he worked for. There was always the chance they would double-cross you for whatever reason, whether it be money-wise or not.

Keller had greying close-cut hair and some wrinkles that went with his age (of fifty-two). He was outfitted in his typical garb of grey camouflage fatigues that beared the insignia of Colonel as well as a black vest that he wore over everything else. He disregarded the 'no smoking' signs in the room completely by puffing away on his cigar (an expensive Cuban one), making sure to dab out the end on the ashtray on the table set up to his left. He left it smoking there as he went for a pocket in his vest and removed a wrapped piece of fruit flavoured gum, taking the wrapping off before placing it in his mouth and chewing. He remained chewing for most of the day, long after the flavour of the gum had ceased to be.

He wasn't the only one seated in the assembly hall. No, he was one of five people currently waiting around for the meeting to begin. The other four seated in chairs near him were four MNU mercenaries who had been selected for the new team. All four the Colonel had taken the time to read about prior to arriving and he was only impressed with one of them.

The "hothead" of the group was most definitely Sarah Taylor, the young twenty-seven year old woman with the dark blonde hair that was neatly tied back into a ponytail. She had a fire in those pretty blue eyes of hers, the type that meant she wasn't one to mess with. She sat on a chair to the Colonel's right, outfitted in standard MNU mercenary gear (as were the other three mercenaries). Currently she was impatiently tapping her fingers on the table nearby, obviously with little inclination to wait for this meeting to get started.

According to her file, Sarah had been responsible for the deaths of many of the alien "prawns". She seemed to get a kick out of killing them, believing them to be little more than stupid animals (and many others thought the same).

Hermes Kossel, the marksman of the group was seated some distance to the left of the Colonel. He had turned his table around in order to face one of the posters on the walls (that of a black diagram of a prawn) and was carefully balancing a combat knife in one hand. Hermes was about thirty years old and had once been in the South African military as a sniper and had with him considerable sharpshooting skills. He had joked earlier how he could shoot the wings off a fly and had failed to do so when a fly had buzzed past. The few bullet holes from this were over in the far wall while the fly itself was still flying around, going about its business of landing on objects and puking on them.

Hermes was dark haired and brown-eyed. He was often the quiet type but when it came to his line of work he was quite the boaster as had been evident from the fly incident that had occurred earlier. He was currently spinning his combat knife around in one hand, bringing it up and throwing it with a sudden and quick movement. The knife embedded itself in the head of the diagram of the prawn stuck up on the wall and Hermes smiled to himself at this success.

William Slater and Samuel Marshall were the two members of the little group that Keller had his doubts about. William Slater was a twenty -seven year old white male and well-built, his facial features well-chiselled and barely marked by age. He was the type of guy the girls would go crazy for but there was one major flaw in this otherwise near perfect looking man: he was somewhat crazy. Not crazy in the sense that he would kill his own mother without batting an eyelid but crazy in the sense that he never shut up about conspiracy theory crap. Even now he was going on about how the government was putting chemicals in the water supply in order to keep the population docile. With rants and topics of conversation like this it was no wonder he struggled to get a girl.

He was best friends with Samuel Marshall, the agile-built twenty-six year old black man he was sitting next to. Samuel had developed a slight dark beard on and around his chin which gave him a mature look, despite the fact that he was perhaps the least mature of the group. He still lived with his mother apparently and had a day-job as an employee at a supermarket. In other words the man was the epitome of the term "loser" yet he seemed so content with this existence. He had probably given up on amounting to anything years ago.

Keller surveyed both men from where he sat with a careful gaze, trying to decide whether they would be worth his time or not. He had been specifically told that the members of this team were not up to him to decide. In fact, he had been specifically told to put up with whoever had been placed in this team because all of them had been carefully chosen by Richard Houser. There was something about each of them that Richard's overall scheme required and the orders Keller had received earlier this morning clarified why.

Genetics wasn't his specialty but it had something to do with that. Keller was going to be in charge of this new team (and there were several members that had not arrived yet) and to be quite frank he wasn't looking too forward to it.

No one in the team but him would know the real reason as to why it had been created. Everybody else would think it was just a team made specifically for dealing with the rising insurgency from the prawns. That was only a half-truth.

Keller, like most people, didn't think much of the prawns. In fact he had barely even seen them, having only been in South Africa for the last sixteen hours or so. The pay for leading this new "specialist team" was good and definitely worth the trip from his last contract, which had been in Venezuela. In Venezuela he had been helping Richard's organization overthrow the dictator in power there (they were yet to carry out the final phase of this scheme). Where Venezuela had been hot and humid, South Africa was warm and dry. South Africa was mostly savannah anyway, with lions and gazelle and other exotic animals. He had been in other African nations in the past during his years as a mercenary but never in South Africa.

Still, he knew what to expect from the prawns. He had seen videos of them and read much about them. On the flight to Johannesburg from the city of Maracaibo in Venezuela he had spent it reading assorted files and documents that concerned the prawns and what was known about them. It was widely speculated that the prawns in residence in South Africa were the workers caste, their leadership having mysteriously disappeared. Apparently there were a few more intelligent ones, made evident with the one named "Christopher Johnson" who had been intelligent enough to fly the ship away from Earth back in 2010. No doubt there were more of these smart prawns and it was thought that it was these smart prawns that were in charge of the growing rebel groups.

Part of Keller's mission was to locate what was known as "Item #072", an important object that had been stolen from a convoy the week before during a rebel raid from the prawns. It was speculated that there was some sort of security leak amongst the upper echelons of MNU, one that had revealed the existence of Item #072 to the prawn rebels and thus they had decided to steal it. Another theory was that it was simply a random attack, one that had just happened to be carried out against the convoy that had been moving Item #072 out of the country and to a secure facility on the South Africa-Zimbabwe border.

Whatever the reason behind the attack Keller would have to find this "Item #072". He had seen pictures of the object and read files on it, fascinated at the premise that it may very well be one of the near deceased prawn leaders contained within the stasis pod. If it was an alien leader then there was a chance that the prawns may bring it back to life…and if that happened all sorts of hell might break loose.

The "specialist team" was a mere front, one to aid with MNU's waning public image. He didn't care much for MNU's public image, just as long as he got paid for what he did. Sure, he might have been officially working for the corporation now but this would only be a temporary arrangement. He was sure that they would find Item #072 soon enough since he doubted the prawns could have done much with it.

The image of a new team dedicated to combat the rising insurgency would help put the general public at ease and perhaps encourage people to go out more. Ever since the last lot of attacks it seemed the South African population was becoming far more cautious. The streets weren't quite empty but they were certainly emptier than usual, especially where there were MNU buildings. The only people outside MNU headquarters now were the protestors and security guards.

Keller found the whole premise of District 10 a bit disconcerting. District 10 was a massive city-like area two hundred miles from Johannesburg where potentially hostile aliens were living. If the whole lot of them got organized then the whole of South Africa could face a potential war, a war with an alien race that had access to powerful alien technology. Births in District 10 were uncontrolled and thus the population of already 2.7 million prawns was growing at an alarming rate. Keller was surprised that major rebel movements hadn't come up sooner, especially since there were so many of the prawns living in the district. There would have to be numerous "smart prawns" running the show, the statistics made this much clear. There were even some of the aliens still living in the remaining areas of District 9 while God only knew how many roamed the countryside stirring up trouble. MNU had a right mess on their hands, one that was not likely to be solved anytime soon.

If the pay wasn't so good Keller probably would have chosen to stay out of South Africa. Richard Houser, his boss, had made sure to strike a rather persuasive argument since he knew that Keller was the right man for the job. Keller couldn't really say no to his smooth-talking boss, especially when the prospect of earning millions of dollars was within his grasp. In the end it all came down to money…a lot of it.

Hermes Kossel stood up and walked over to the poster of the diagram of the prawn, removing the combat knife he had thrown into it only a minute or so earlier. He took a look at the result of his accurate throw, feeling one finger down the gash in the wall behind the poster where the knife's blade had gone through the head of the prawn pictured.

He turned around and sat back in his seat again, preparing another throw. He was about to throw the knife when Sarah got up and walked over, grabbing his knife wielding hand from behind. She snatched the blade clean from his fingers while Hermes uttered a surprised sounding gasp.

"Hey, what the--?"

"Shut up Hermes," Sarah said bluntly, shooting the man a mean gaze. Hermes fell silent, watching as Sarah weighed the blade in her hands.

Keller watched this with some interest, letting his cigar burn in the ashtray on the table near him. Will Slater had gotten up and had started towards the refreshments table, picking up a Danish pastry and sniffing it carefully. He was probably checking if it was poisoned, the paranoid moron.

"Nice blade," Sarah commented, running the glinting silver across one palm. Hermes was watching her with some noticeable anxiety, as if he knew that Sarah Taylor was bad news. Keller only smiled, thinking that he already liked the young woman. She was certainly a little crazy and crazy was something that was always useful in their line of work.

"Certainly beats those stun prods they give us," Sarah continued, her eyes never leaving the shining silver. "Seriously, who wants to stun a fucking prawn? I'd prefer to cut them up and watch them writhe around, holding their insides in, making those chirps and squeals of theirs while they bleed to death…"

"Uh…right…" Hermes barely managed to form a cohesive sentence, thinking that the volatile Sarah Taylor would bring the blade into him at the slightest provocation. He knew he had to be careful with anything he said.

"I'm going to keep this blade," Sarah said bluntly. She was about to tuck it away into her vest when Hermes stood up, obviously annoyed at this development.

"But it's mine!"

Sarah smiled in a somewhat unnerving manner and brought the combat knife forwards, pressing its serrated edge against the flesh at Hermes' throat. Hermes froze, his eyes never leaving the blade of cold metal that threatened to slice his neck open. He was shaking with fear now and all Keller could do was chuckle heartily.

"You want to make a bet on that, asshole?" Sarah asked in an intimidating fashion, her eyes burning with an inner fury. She wanted Hermes to attack her and thus give her an excuse to kill him.

Why would she want to kill Hermes? Keller couldn't come up with a valid answer to this question. Instead, he simply laughed quietly as he watched the pair stand-off. Hermes was close to wetting his pants from the way he looked, shaking in his boots like a leaf. Keller found such an occurrence damned funny.

Perhaps Sarah got off on this kind of thing? She certainly seemed the type to try unprovoked violence, simply killing for her own enjoyment. Most people would have found her sadistic but Keller wasn't like most people. He preferred working with someone who was crazy since they were more prone to taking enemy fire off of him due to their reckless nature. Keller thought he should intervene before things got bloody between Sarah and Hermes but he decided to wait and see what happened.

"A bet? No, no…no bets…" Hermes replied anxiously, holding up his hands in order to show his submission. Sarah glared at him with those fury filled eyes of hers but didn't move. She watched as Hermes took a step backwards and away from the blade, sitting back down in his chair.

Once he was gone Sarah lowered the blade, her gaze returning to one of distinct neutrality. Over by the refreshments table Samuel Marshall had joined Will and the pair were discussing something, oblivious to the exchange between Sarah and Hermes that had just taken place.

"I have a feeling this pastry's poisoned," Will said, holding it out for Samuel to check.

Samuel looked down at it and simply frowned.

"Really man, there's no one trying to poison you," Samuel said, rolling his eyes. "And there ain't no one spying on you either."

Will looked at him carefully, considering each word Samuel said very carefully.

"If that's the case why don't you eat it?" Will asked.

Samuel sighed. He took the pastry from Will's outstretched hand and took a bite, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He chewed thoroughly for a moment or two before swallowing. When he didn't keel over and die he simply shook his head and continued to eat the slice of pastry much to Will's surprise.

"It might be a slow acting poison…" Will protested.

"Oh please man, you gotta stop reading those conspiracy books," Samuel said between chews, "they're filling your head up with all kinds of bullshit…"

"Bullshit?" Will shook his head, adamant that his choice of reading wasn't full of lies. "Yeah, right, whatever you say Sam…What if I told you that Hitler didn't commit suicide in his Berlin bunker in 1945 and instead went down to South America in order to found a secret society of Nazis? What if I told you that the US government has an alien being kept in a hangar at Wright Patterson Air Force Base? What if…"

Samuel interrupted Will before he could get on a roll. He poured himself a glass of orange juice as he delivered his answer, simply smiling as he spoke. He was used to Will's rants and knew just how to counter them.

"There's a time and place for this sort of crap talk," Samuel replied, "besides, the part about the alien being at Wright Patterson Air Force base isn't all that unbelievable. If they did have an alien it'd probably be a prawn…"

"It's no prawn, Samuel!" Will exclaimed suddenly, incredulous to his friend's naivety. "It's a reptilian alien called a Draconian and it's from the planet Sirius. It's one of the aliens that have been secretly running the US government for the last fifty years. The President isn't anything but a puppet to them…"

"Whatever you say man," Samuel replied. He took a sip from the glass of orange juice in his hand and immediately screwed up his face in disgust.

"Goddamn, this orange juice tastes like…like…!" He paused for a moment, thinking about it. "It tastes like cat's piss!"

Sarah was busy spinning the combat knife around in her right hand, shooting the occasional look to Hermes. She had a mocking smile on her face because she knew that she exerted some power over him. She would probably pull a stunt with each of them, probably to make herself feel superior. Keller could tell she was the type who preferred to make herself feel superior to those around her in any way possible. She would probably try and pull a stunt on Keller but the Colonel was determined to make sure she didn't succeed. He was in charge and he'd be damned if anyone would push him around.

The door of the assembly hall opened and immediately Sarah swivelled around, flinging the combat knife from her hands. Keller watched with some amusement as it embedded itself into the wood of the door, mere inches from Jonas Lochaeen's head as he entered.

The Director of MNU's South Africa branch was dressed in his usual grey business suit and matching pants. He had been about to say something when the combat knife had embedded itself in the door near his head and for a moment he simply stared at it, surprised. It took him a minute to figure out who had thrown it and he shifted his gaze towards Sarah Taylor, shaking his head in incredulity.

"Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed suddenly and angrily, "Are you trying to kill me?!"

Keller laughed from where he sat, bringing the Director's gaze towards him. Everyone in the room had turned to watch Jonas as he carefully walked in, perhaps expecting other attempts on his life which would explain his awkward swagger. He surveyed the group of five mercenaries briefly, feeling somewhat uneasy with the way Sarah was looking at him.

"Director Lochaeen, it's a pleasure to meet you!" Keller stood up and stepped over to the mostly stunned Director, shaking hands and patting him on the back. Keller had always considered himself a people person and thus made sure to make the Director feel as welcome as possible. There was no doubt in Keller's mind that the Director had been given a healthy proposition in order to agree to this whole joint operation between MNU and the organization that Keller worked for.

"You must be Colonel Keller," Jonas said, easing a little and managing a nervous smile. He broke from the handshake, managing a quick glance back through the open doorway behind him before turning his gaze back to the Colonel.

"The rest of them are on their way," Jonas said, "most of them aren't combat personnel like you, Colonel, so treat them nicely. We've got a couple of engineers and some tech experts, as well as some experts on the prawns." He paused, noticing that Keller had lost his friendly gaze and reverted to something that was completely neutral.

"I take it they're as oblivious to the real reason behind the formation of this team as the four in here with me?" Keller asked, his voice low so the others would not hear him.

Jonas nodded.

"I don't think they would agree to do it if they knew the truth," Jonas replied, also careful to keep his voice low.

Keller chuckled again.

"Poor suckers," he said. He didn't give a damn about what happened to these people, just as long as he was able to get this whole operation over and done with as soon as possible. These dozen or so people were being gathered for a very particular reason and as long as they served their purpose Keller would get paid. They had something to find and prawns to kill, both prospects indicating that there was much fun ahead.

"I take it you read up about the current state of affairs on your flight here, Colonel?" Jonas asked, starting on his way to the front of the room. Keller followed alongside while the other mercenaries soon lost interest in the pair.

"You bet I did," Keller replied, remembering all of the files he had read through on the plane into Johannesburg. "It's simple enough: You have hostile nonhuman groups gaining confidence with each successive attack they carry out and thus they go for bigger and better things. And one of those bigger and better things was the convoy carrying Item 072. What I'm worried about is if we have to go into District 10 to find it…"

Jonas stopped and frowned.

"Why so?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Keller sighed. Wasn't it obvious?

"The place is like a damn city from what I hear," Keller said, "There'll be a lot of hostiles there, even more so if what we're looking for is being kept there…"

"You'll have help from the MNU personnel already stationed in District 10," Jonas said.

"I'm not saying I can't handle it, I just don't know about the idiots you've supplied me…Sure, they were specifically chosen and all, I just don't think they'd last in a firefight save for the Sarah girl. And we don't want to lose these 'potential assets' if you know what I mean." From the way he said it Jonas seemed to take the hint.

The Director thought about this for a moment, taking a look over at the four mercenaries before shrugging.

"You have your orders and I have mine," he said finally and decisively, "I can supply you with more mercenaries but I don't think that will be necessary."

Keller was a little doubtful as to the "necessity" of it all. He was confident that he could handle any situation he was faced with and had managed to do so during his military career and subsequent career as a mercenary. He just didn't like the idea of going into dangerous situations with a pack of idiotic mercenaries who would most likely get killed if they met any trouble.

"I'm just saying…"

"I'm sure they can handle themselves," Jonas said, "and as long as one of them—"

"One of them…You only need one of them?" Keller frowned again before adding, "Then why bring along the others?"

"Public image, remember that Colonel…It's all about the public image. And it increases the chance of success. And, it'll be easier making the whole group disappear in an 'accident' since they're all needed for the subsequent tests with what Item 072 has to offer." Jonas smiled and Keller could only return the favour.

"Besides, you're not heading into District 10 just yet so you don't need to worry about overwhelming hostile activity," Jonas said.

Keller heard the sounds of subdued conversations and footsteps on the linoleum floor from behind. He glanced over his shoulder at the group of people in assorted casual work outfits (shirts, ties and so forth) who were filing into the mostly vacant assembly hall. He recognized them all from the files he had read on his flight into Johannesburg and realized that he was faced with the rest of this new "specialist team".

"But isn't District 10 the most ideal place to start?" Keller asked.

"Not according to Mr. Houser," Jonas said, "rather, he thinks he may have found a lead in another place."

Keller awaited the answer, keeping his expression neutral. Where were they going to go? He couldn't think of anywhere in particular at the moment…

"Where then?" Keller asked, noticing that Jonas had been waiting for the question.

"District 9."


	7. A Meeting Part II

Most of the tables and chairs in the main assembly hall had been pushed to the sides, leaving only a small amount in the centre of the large room. There were numerous posters and notices up on the boards and whiteboards that were at the front of the room while a combat knife was stuck in the wood of the door. Lukas Farber gave it a careful look as he walked inside, taking note of the small amount of people already seated inside. One of them, a stern looking fifty-something year old man in combat fatigues was talking to the Director, Jonas Lochaeen.

Lukas hadn't been too sure on what to expect, having been told to come to this particular room at this time. He still had his doubts when it came to the whole new "specialist team" thing but he knew he should at least be flattered. He was being put into a potentially better paid position in MNU, one that aside from being dangerous would be far more interesting than the work he had been carrying out recently for the corporation.

From what he could tell there were going to be a few MNU mercenaries on the team, made clear by the small group who had already gathered inside the assembly hall. Two of them, both fairly young looking were standing by the refreshments table talking quietly. There was a rather striking woman standing nearby, close to where some other thirty-something year old male mercenary was sitting. The woman was watching each person walk in with a careful, examining gaze. Lukas felt strangely unnerved by the look she was giving, as if there was something that was not quite right about her.

The assembly hall hadn't seen much use in the last few years. Lukas had personally never needed to come here before since he had never been part of one of MNU's major operations. The major operations always began here, often with promotions and detailed briefings. It was understandable that in MNU's current state they didn't have the time and resources to organize anymore of these "major operations" and probably didn't have reason to. The last one had been back in 2010 when MNU was arranging the mass eviction of prawns from District 9. At the time Lukas had still been working on researching the alien weaponry, a project that had been met with very little success. There had been one important occurrence but one that no one in MNU had been able to capitalise on before it had gotten away.

According to the watch Lukas wore around his left wrist it was about nine thirty. There were about a dozen people near clustered in the assembly hall, some talking quietly amongst themselves while others simply remained silent and sitting still. Lukas made his way over to one of the vacant seats and sat down just as the two mercenaries who had been standing near the refreshments table sat down on his right. Both were still talking quietly amongst themselves and Lukas thought he heard mention of "aliens" in the conversation.

The fifty-something year old mercenary with the stern features was still speaking with Jonas Lochaeen over near the front. Their voices were low but over the other conversations Lukas thought he heard something about "poor suckers" but wasn't too sure on what the mercenary could mean. No doubt they were talking about the prawns…who else could they be talking about anyway?

Jonas had been in charge of MNU since late 2010 and early 2011, having replaced the last Director after the genetics research trials. He was in a tough position, faced with all the problems that had been left behind after the trials. He had simply let some of them go from what Lukas could gather, especially in the case of the prawns and their ever growing population in District 10. You would think that MNU would be trying to keep their numbers under control but this was definitely not the case. Rather, the population in District 10 continued to grow…and grow.

"Hey, you know what this is about?"

Lukas looked up, his train of thought broken. He turned to his right and saw that it was one of the mercenaries who had been sitting near him who had spoken. He was black, perhaps in his late twenties to early thirties. He had some fuzz growing on and around his chin which was obviously the result of a lack of shaving in the past few days.

"Why…don't you?" Lukas asked. He was still limited on what he knew of this whole gathering here in the assembly hall but he did have some idea of what to expect. They were being put into some kind of new team, weren't they?

The mercenary shook his head.

"I'm sure we'll find out," Lukas said. He didn't feel like talking to someone he barely knew and tried to break from the conversation but before he could the mercenary was talking to him again.

"My name's Samuel Marshall," the mercenary said, holding out one hand in order to shake with Lukas. Lukas took it carefully, thinking that maybe this wouldn't be so awkward after all.

"I'm Lukas Farber," Lukas replied. He nodded towards the other mercenary, the one who was simply watching the front with vague interest. He looked young with handsomely constructed features.

"Who's your friend?" Lukas asked.

"Oh, him?" Samuel shrugged. "He's Will Slater. It's hard to talk to him because he's always rambling on about how the government's out to get him…"

"They _are_ out to get me," Will interjected, his voice level, "They even tried putting a bomb on my car once…Luckily I found it before I started the engine…"

Samuel rolled his eyes. Lukas could tell that he was used to hearing this sort of thing from Will.

"Yeah, sure, whatever…" Samuel said easily, "Just be quiet, would you? I'm trying to talk to Lukas here…"

Will rolled his eyes and turned to face the front again, beginning to ponder on his own thoughts. Up the front the stern fifty-something year old mercenary had stopped talking with Jonas and had sat down in a chair a few rows ahead, picking up a cigar as he did so. He began to puff away on it, obviously in complete disregard of the 'NO SMOKING' signs pasted up on the wall.

"So, would do you do?" Samuel asked, "you don't look like a merc…Which is probably good for you, since this job doesn't pay all that well…"

Samuel seemed nice enough, definitely unlike most of the mercenaries Lukas had encountered in the past. Where those mercenaries had been loud, cocky and self-absorbed Samuel was neither. Lukas had been pushed around by mercenaries before, primarily because of his line of work since being an engineer wasn't much of a career in the opinion of some mercenaries.

"I'm an engineer," Lukas replied.

"What sort of engineer?"

"Usually weapons," Lukas said, "I'm good at anything really, but weapons are sort of my specialty. I even had a chance to work on some of those alien guns, not that they were very useful…"

Samuel raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"Yeah…"

Samuel nodded, thinking about this for a moment. He took a look around at the other people seated nearby, noticing that none but him and the four who had already been in the assembly hall were mercenaries. There were only a dozen people in the assembly hall and then there was the Director, Jonas Lochaeen. He was standing at the front, organizing some papers on a podium as he prepared to get things underway.

"Now I'm stuck working on somewhat less interesting projects," Lukas continued, shaking his head when he thought about it. As he had firmly decided some time ago, his career had become less interesting and more routine ever since early 2011. The alien weapons projects had been scrapped and he had been put to work on far less interesting things.

"Like what?" Samuel asked, shifting his gaze back to Lukas.

"Like what?" Lukas thought for a moment. "Anything, from new exercise devices to a damn stun prod…Very standard stuff. I feel like I'm wasting my talent."

"That's probably why they brought you here," Samuel concluded, "they probably thought the same sort of thing, how you're wasting your talent on crap projects and all. So, whatever this meeting is about it's no doubt going to give you more interesting work. At least, it certainly looks that way."

Lukas nodded. There were some doubts in his mind when it came to this whole new "specialist group" thing…he was somewhat suspicious as to why it had suddenly been brought to everyone's attention on such short notice. Usually MNU was more careful than that, always planning these things in advance. Then again, he guessed they were in more of a desperate state than ever. The whole of South Africa was going to chaos outside thanks to all of this insurgency stuff.

Did Lukas feel safe working for MNU? He always had, even when the prawns had started blowing things up on a regular basement. Besides, he doubted they would pull a stunt on MNU headquarters here in Johannesburg…And they never had, unless you count that one violent break in that had occurred a few years ago. The whole building had needed to be evacuated then but in the end not a lot had happened…At least, not a lot that MNU had cared to tell its employees.

"And what's it like, being a mercenary?" Lukas asked, feeling that he had already shared enough about himself.

"It's fun sometimes but damned boring most times," Samuel replied, sounding as if he had delivered this response numerous times in the past. It certainly sounded well rehearsed.

"I always used to think I would amount to something," Samuel continued, "I never thought I'd end up being a mercenary, though. Seems like a strange twist of fate if you ask me…"

"What were you thinking of becoming instead?"

"An electrician."

Lukas simply nodded, able to tell that Samuel was rather serious with this response. Being an electrician would have probably paid better than a mercenary since those sorts of labourers were always needed by people. Plumbers were in short supply and always busy, earning large sums of cash since there were always plenty of people in need of their services. Mercenaries, on the other hand, were everywhere and never in short supply. How Samuel had ended up a mercenary probably stemmed to some sort of financial trouble or something, perhaps his parents were keeping him down…Who knew? Lukas could ask but he had only just met Samuel and didn't feel he was in much of a position to until he got to know the mercenary better. He would have been feigning interest anyway since he didn't really care about Samuel's "strange twist of fate". He had other things on his mind at the moment.

Usually on a Monday like this Lukas would be seated in his office, running calculations and sketching the latest project on a large sheet of paper. There would have been a few meetings during the day to discuss how the project was going and determine whether any progress was being made on it or not. Most times the MNU head honchos would pull the plug on their projects and get them to start working on something entirely different. It was very rare for them to actually get anything past the testing stage before MNU pulled the plug on it. Lukas had gotten tired of all the work that had been carried out for nothing. He probably would have found some other employment if the pay wasn't so good, considering that he and his colleagues in engineering never even finished any of the projects they worked on.

Perhaps his position in this new "specialist team" would provide a welcome break from the monotonous work in the office. Most days in his job were spent surfing the Internet since he had lost faith in his line of work. Sure, he still got his work done but any spare time was spent browsing web pages and watching videos on YouTube. He wasn't the only one to waste the time away in the office like that; in fact he was one of many.

In the end it came down to money. The pay would definitely have to be good if he was even going to bother being a member of this new team and it would have to provide him with some more interesting work that didn't involve working on things that he would never get a chance to finish.

Up the front of the assembly hall Jonas seemed to have gotten his papers in order. He was taking his time to start though, fiddling with his tie as it fell a little loose from his collar. Most of the other people in the room were quiet, save for Will who started talking to Samuel again.

"I don't trust this guy," Will said quietly.

Samuel laughed.

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Seriously, there's something not quite right about him," Will continued, nudging Samuel rather painfully in the ribs with one elbow. Samuel shot his friend an annoyed look but the nudge had certainly gotten his attention.

"He's got 'corrupt corporate executive' written all over him," Will commented, "I bet he's up to no good…"

"All high profile businessmen are always up to no good," Lukas said. Will seemed to agree with this statement and gave a strong nod. Samuel simply frowned, a little sceptical.

Lukas may have thought that his superiors were up to no good but this didn't stop him from working with them. Why wouldn't he? The pay for his job as an engineer here had always been good regardless of what his superiors were doing behind the scenes. Sure, he knew all about MNU's illegal genetic research as most people did but he didn't really care…His wife had when she had found out, going into all out "rant" mode the minute he had come home from work that day back in early 2011. She went on about how he should stop working for MNU and how they were "inhuman" for treating the prawns like experiments. Lukas had simply shrugged and told her to calm down, saying that he couldn't just leave his job at MNU behind just because of their illegal genetics research. This had been some months before his disillusionment with his job at MNU but he kept working there, unsure if he would be able to find any other employment as well paid as this. One day the money wouldn't be enough to keep him on board but until then he would keep working here at MNU. He had nowhere else to go and they had been the ones to drag him down to South Africa in the first place.

"Could I have your attention please?" Jonas announced and all eyes in the room became trained on him. Lukas could tell Jonas was the confident public-speaker from the way the man was composing himself, beaming stern confidence as his hands rested at the sides of the podium. His voice rang out all through the meeting hall rather clearly, eliminating the need of a microphone.

"Eyes over to the Director, people," the stern looking fifty-something year old man with the cigar in his mouth said (or barked, more like). There was something in the man's voice that was powerful enough to shut everyone else in the room up, including Will who had started to ramble on about corrupt business executives.

Lukas could tell that this stern military man would be in charge, hinting at the possible nature of this hastily constructed team. What need did they have for mercenaries unless they were doing something in potentially hostile environments? District 10 sprang directly to mind. Lukas frowned, realizing that this could mean that they would be interacting with the prawns. The whole idea didn't appeal too much to him, especially from what he had heard about them and their often aggressive natures, as well as the rising terrorist activities that some of the more unruly prawns were carrying out.

"Thank you, Colonel," Jonas said in acknowledgement. The military man with the cigar simply nodded in response, taking a moment to puff on the end of his cigar in order to send a thin waft of smoke floating up to the ceiling.

Jonas shifted his gaze to the people seated before him, making sure to acknowledge each of them in turn. He quickly glanced down at the notes before him, determining on what to start on. Lukas figured that he should start with why they had all been gathered here, all (fifteen? Twenty? Lukas hadn't counted) of them. Jonas seemed to be thinking along the same lines and got started.

"You may be wondering why you were dragged off of your regular jobs within this great corporation—" Jonas was interrupted at this point when Will sneezed loudly, receiving a somewhat angered glance from Jonas and some quick glances from the others seated around him. Will looked up from where he had covered his mouth, a convincingly innocent look spread on his face.

"As I was saying, you have all been taken off of your usual roles within Multinational United for a very specific reason," Jonas said, his tone level but with a noticeable hint of pride to it. He seemed to be enjoying himself, almost flamboyantly yet he managed to keep his demeanour reasonably controlled.

"You're needed, every single one of you in this room," Jonas said with a flourish of one hand that was meant to make them all feel included. It seemed to work. Lukas couldn't help but feel a little pleased to hear this Jonas' statement since he hadn't realized just how important the head honchos here at MNU's South Africa branch had considered him. He knew that some considered him one of MNU's best engineers but he had always been a tad doubtful as to how valued he was to the big boss types like Jonas. He had always known that he was too valuable to get sacked but then again so were plenty of other people.

"South Africa is in a state of chaos, thanks to the nonhumans," Jonas continued, making it sound absolutely clear that it was the aliens who were responsible for the country's current woes. "Despite our best efforts, terrorism from the nonhumans is at an all-time high. Time and again they strike MNU assets with surprising effectiveness and often claim the lives of innocent people."

Lukas had a feeling on where this was going. He wasn't so much as concerned as he was intrigued, figuring that maybe he was well-regarded in this corporation after all. He had been selected for this new "specialist group" anyway, one which seemed to have something to do with alien terrorism. It certainly sounded more interesting than working in an office all day, sketching things and working on projects that were always halted midway through the planning stage.

"That's why you have all been gathered here today, in order to form a new team and branch of MNU dedicated to fighting alien terrorism," Jonas said, "each of you are some of the best in your fields within the corporation and you are all equally needed. MNU will be dedicating much of its resources to this new team, which has been given the title of 'Anti Alien Terrorism Squad'."

Lukas frowned. So, it would be 'AATS' for short? Sounded a bit unimaginative. He assumed that the rest of the people in here with him were the best from their fields, although he couldn't see anyone he recognized. He had heard of plenty of brilliant thinkers in MNU and yet none of them appeared to be here.

"All of you have your specialities, whether it be combat, engineering, medicine or something else…You will be the ones leading MNU's charge against the nonhuman terrorist forces and you will be the ones to help quell the nonhumans who threaten our nation's safety. Remember people, the nonhumans can be dangerous and organized. Those of you who have never had much to do with them will be properly educated.

"All of you have the choice of leaving now or staying here in order to be properly registered. However, there will be healthy pay-checks for those who choose to stay and become part of the Anti Alien Terrorism Squad. It may sound like bribery but remember this: when the nation is safe once again those of you who left will miss out on a lot more than just large monetary rewards. I'm thinking along the lines of becoming heroes to the public, with movies being made about you and your faces all through the newspapers. Besides, I already told you that you were all specifically chosen for your skills since we need the best of the best. Backing out could be considered a bit of a weak gesture…"

Lukas could tell that Jonas had rehearsed this speech a fair amount. The whole idea of a team of specialists dedicated to fighting alien terrorism seemed logical enough and the allure of money would always be something Lukas was a bit of a sucker for. But that was what it was all about in the end, wasn't it? Money. That's why people worked in whatever career they had chosen, because they all needed the money.

Jonas certainly delivered a persuasive argument. Lukas could tell that most of the other people here were thinking the same sort of thing and none had so much as even glanced back at the door.

"The prawns are dangerous!" One of the seated people exclaimed. He was a man who looked to be in his late thirties who wore glasses and had a set of close-cut dark hair. "Barely any of us know how to fight or handle weapons! What if those things attack us?"

Lukas had some idea of how to handle himself in a fight although he had personally never fired a gun in anger. The alien weapons he had handled had been useless in human hands and thus he had never even gotten to fire those, despite the fact he had spent several years trying to discover how the alien weapons worked.

Jonas had been expecting this sort of question and delivered the answer in a level tone with a well rehearsed delivery.

"There'll be plenty of MNU hired combat personnel to back you up in your work," Jonas replied, "And the Colonel's personal team will be doing the main combat work. You may be wondering why we need people like you but it's simple really: we're going to need engineers to handle any mechanical devices, alien or not. We're going to need computer experts to take care of the technological side of things. We're going to need those skilled in medicine for obvious reasons, injuries received while out in the field being one that comes immediately to mind.

"You see, a reasonably sized team such as this will have a better chance of doing things under the radar. It has been determined that the nonhumans are getting rather organized, possibly by humans who sympathise with them. Chances are any major large scale MNU operation carried out in order to quell the terrorist groups would most likely take heavy casualties. A small group such as this will most likely have a far better chance of success.

"You should all be honoured by being brought in to form this new team. I know I would be…"

Will sneezed loudly again, interrupting Jonas. The mercenary wiped himself clean with his sleeve and simply shrugged, not too concerned by the aggravated look that the Director was sending his way.

Lukas was intrigued at the whole premise of being a member of some sort of whole new team and somewhat daunted by it. If they were going to go out and fight prawn terrorists then that would undoubtedly be dangerous. He was used to sitting in an office most of the time and was thinking that going out and about throughout the countryside would be quite an experience.

"I personally will not be leading you all when you're out on the field," Jonas said, "that job will be left to Colonel Francis Keller, an experienced military man who was once a Green Beret. He has many years of military service and will no doubt make an excellent team leader. How about a round of applause as he comes up to the front?" He gestured towards the man with the cigar and upon this signal the man stood up and out of the chair, stepping up to the front.

Lukas could tell immediately that Colonel Francis Keller was the type of no-nonsense military man who probably had no qualms with killing. It was in those cold blue eyes of his, the ones that had probably seen a lot of death and destruction. Keller approached the front in a rather casual yet noticeably flamboyant way, wearing a broad but unnerving smile on his face. Lukas didn't clap but everybody else did, seemingly caught up in the Colonel's aura of confidence and Jonas' persuasive pride-inducing talk. There wouldn't be anyone leaving, far from it. In fact, most were already contemplating how great it would be to get out of the office for once. There were some people here who had participated in the mass eviction of prawns from District 9 and had been part of the task force who had gone into the district in order to deliver eviction notices. They were only a few of the new team, those from the extraterrestrial affairs department who had been dragged into becoming part of the Anti Alien Terrorist Squad.

Lukas wasn't going to leave, not when a potentially rewarding prospect was ahead of him. He would be part of the solution to the growing insurgency from the prawns and wouldn't turn his back on this new position, even if he didn't really trust Jonas or this Colonel guy who now stood at the podium. To be offered this sort of position on such short notice was certainly a stroke of good luck.

Most of the others seemed to be thinking the same thing, although some seemed just as subdued as Lukas was. They all had their doubts but even these doubts were beginning to be drowned out under the sheer optimistic mood that had fallen across the whole room. Even Colonel Keller looked totally optimistic, removing the cigar from his mouth before he began to talk yet keeping that smile on. Lukas didn't like the smile…there was something underneath it that he couldn't quite work out. Something certainly didn't add up about all of this but what was he to do? Complain and be berated by most of the excited others in the room? Perhaps he was just paranoid…maybe it was because of what little sleep he had gotten last night. Whatever the case he sat and listened to what Colonel Keller had to say.

"Hello folks," Keller said cheerfully, "I'm Colonel Francis Keller. I'll be in charge of this new anti-terror squad and trust me: you will all have your parts to play. No squad is complete without its engineers and its medics and its experts on the prawns…" He nodded towards one of the experts, a man with a bald patch who was dressed in a standard white MNU science uniform.

"I haven't been in South Africa for very long," Keller continued, "Hell, I only just flew in last night. However, I have been keeping track of things down here and it's damn clear on what the problem is. These prawns or aliens or whatever you want to call them…They're getting rebellious, troublesome…They've been blowing things up, killing innocent folks and yet no matter how hard you guys try you simply can't stop them. That's why I was brought in, to lead this new anti terrorism squad to ensure that we put a stop to these insurgency activities once and for all.

"It will be dangerous, sure, but what isn't? Isn't life itself one constant ballad of danger? Everything you do there's always danger to it. Driving to work is dangerous since you could damn well end up having a crash and getting killed. Using a toaster is dangerous since it might screw up and give you an electric shock. Let's face it people…_everything_ has some degree of danger to it."

Keller let his words sink into those seated before him. By now several other mercenaries had wandered in, presumably more for Keller to lead. However, Keller wasn't interested in the mercenaries. Instead his gaze was carefully surveying the non-mercenaries seated before him and for a moment his eyes made contact with Lukas'. Both men stared at each other for a brief moment before they both broke it. Something told Lukas that this man was hiding something behind his façade of a cheerful but stern military Colonel. Still, Lukas remained sitting quietly and listening intently.

"And so you've all been gathered to be the spearhead in the fight against prawn terrorists," the Colonel continued, unaffected by whatever he had seen in Lukas a moment before. "You'll all be properly briefed on your roles throughout today but I can tell you that due to the urgency of this line of work you'll be heading off on the first proper mission tomorrow morning. Our first stop on the road of destroying alien terrorism will be District 9."

District 9? They were actually heading to District 9, home of Nigerian gangsters who had no qualms with killing interlopers and also home to a hell of a lot of angry prawns? Lukas frowned but he seemed to be the only one who seemed a little doubtful as to the safety of the mission. Everything had happened so fast today…they had only just been brought together into this new team and it seemed that tomorrow they would be heading off to one of the least safest places in Johannesburg (and the whole of South Africa for that matter). Then again, Lukas doubted fighting terrorism would allow for much in the way of breaks. Rather, he had the feeling his workload would suddenly increase.

He looked at those seated near him. There was that young woman, the mercenary who seemed to be smiling in an unnerving fashion. She didn't seem to have no problem with going into District 9, nor did anyone else. Lukas felt alone in his uncertainty although he did sense similar vibes coming from Samuel and Will. They were keeping their expressions neutral though.

Jonas Lochaeen was standing near Keller, keeping a straight face as the Colonel spoke. There was also something that Lukas didn't trust about Jonas although this wasn't really surprising, especially since Jonas came off as the untrustworthy type. Anyone with as much power as him ought to have been corrupt and yet Lukas still found himself working underneath him. So what? Lukas didn't think much of it and never had.

"It's a dangerous place, that District 9," Keller went on, his cheerful demeanour staying on, "but as I said, there's danger in everything. You'll all be able to save the country from alien terrorism without getting hurt if you do as I say and follow operational protocols exactly.

"Besides, we wouldn't want any unfortunate incidents occurring," Keller said with that smile of his, "especially on your first day in this new job. Even I think that would suck."

And Lukas was the only one who found this comment oddly unnerving. Regardless he stayed on to become part of this new squad, one where his engineering abilities would be apparently needed at some point. Until tomorrow he had the rest of today to get to know the others, although there were some he didn't want to speak to, mainly the other mercenaries. Will and Samuel were fine but those others seemed a little…crazy, especially the woman. Sarah Taylor her name was. Strange girl.


	8. Discussions

**Discussions  
**MNU Headquarters, Johannesburg  
June 10th, 2013  
1145 Hours

The cafeteria on the ground floor was almost always populated with at least some MNU personnel, either there to eat or talk or both. By this time the lunchtime foods were out on the heated trays at the cafeteria, available for anyone who actually wanted them. Some of it was of a reasonable standard yet some was barely edible, thus most people often went to somewhere else to get their lunch.

At about this time the cafeteria's eating area was about half full of differing types of MNU personnel, from standard office workers to mercenaries outfitted in the usual MNU mercenary gear. The inside of the cafeteria was a cacophony of voices speaking on top of one another while an LCD television in the corner blared loudly. Music was playing from a few speakers set into the ceiling to further add to the racket. Through the windows at one side was a view of the street outside and the few protestors that were gathered in this particular area, doing their usual routine of chanting annoying slogans and waving placards. They occasionally threw things at any MNU personnel who went outside but not as frequent as they used to, especially with the increased security around the building.

Some members of the newly formed Anti Alien Terrorist Squad were here, seated at a few of the tables to the right of the cafeteria's eating area. One table of four in particular had amongst its group one of the experts on the aliens that inhabited South Africa and he was currently giving a rather detailed talk about them to the three others seated with him.

"Now, you see…the prawns, they aren't really as stupid as we think," Theodore Van Wyk continued. He was a reasonably built man in his early forties with some slight greying dark hair. He wore glasses to add to his scholarly look and he was dressed in a beige suit jacket with a black shirt underneath and pants to match.

The others seated at the table included Lukas Farber, Samuel Marshall and Will Slater. The four of them had just recently arrived in the cafeteria and had so far only gotten themselves drinks. Lukas had settled on lemonade as had Samuel while Will was carefully drinking from a glass of water through a straw, trying to work out if anyone had slipped anything into it. Theodore Van Wyk had asked them if he could join them and since neither of the three men had anything against him he was allowed to sit down at the table. And he had begun speaking about the very aliens he had spent the last few years researching. Apparently he was one of MNU's lead researchers when it came to the aliens and he wasn't afraid to show off what he knew.

"Regardless of what MNU puts out in the papers and all about the prawns unable to understand simple things like property and work," Theodore continued, "It seems that they are indeed all capable of individual thought. Only very sparsely individual thought since their leadership has since disappeared, leaving these 'worker bees' if you want to call them that wandering aimlessly on this planet. If there had been even one leader left alive things could have turned out very differently…"

"You think there might have been a war?" Samuel was the one to ask this question. He had been listening carefully, stirring his straw around in his glass of lemonade.

"It's hard to say for sure," Theodore replied after a moment's thought, "I just find it odd how what many think to be a 'mining ship' was packing with it so many advanced weapons. I think we should be thankful that the alien leaders were gone by the time the ship arrived to Earth, otherwise this whole business concerning the prawns could have turned out very differently. And I don't know where to start guessing, although a peaceful first contact might have been the very first thing to happen. The alien leader would have been the best for the job of trying to communicate with us humans, unless they didn't come here to communicate and came here to conquer. Perhaps they came here for our natural resources? We still have plenty, water being the most obvious. It's all speculation at this point though…"

Lukas wasn't quite interested in what Theodore was saying, preferring to ponder his own thoughts. He had become a registered member of this Anti Alien Terrorist Squad, given the position of "Field Engineer" which more or less meant he would be going out with the mercenaries and dealing with any technology they might have found, whether it be alien or not. It seemed plausible that MNU was expecting to find some treasure trove of alien devices, otherwise they wouldn't have needed someone like Lukas. The MNU heads all knew about his involvement in the weapons research programs prior to MNU's public falling out. He was perhaps one of their best experts on them, even if no one actually knew what made the weapons work for aliens only and not humans as well.

"What about when they finally return?" Will asked, "There'll be leaders with the returning group, won't there?"

"I can't say that for certain," Theodore said, shaking his head, "We can only speculate as to when Christopher Johnson will return and in what manner. He might not even return at all."

"Christopher Johnson?" Will frowned.

"You're not familiar with the name?" Theodore asked.

Will shook his head. Lukas looked up, only slightly interested in what was being discussed. He took a careful sip from his glass of lemonade, still thinking through what need MNU could possibly have for a whole new specialist team. They were probably just trying to fix their public image no doubt in order to give the public the impression that something was genuinely being done about the alien insurgents. He doubted much could be done about it, especially since there were so many aliens unaccounted for who had obviously gone and fled into the countryside. They could carry out as many hit-and-run raids as they wanted and it would be near impossible to track them down.

"Well, that's understandable since you're just a mercenary," Theodore said, "no offence…"

"None taken."

Theodore continued: "In my line of work you have to be familiar with this sort of thing. Christopher Johnson was the prawn that flew the alien ship away from Earth back in 2010. He was aided by the fugitive, Wikus van de Merwe. And thus you can say that Mr. Van de Merwe betrayed his own race, because if CJ returns with a whole alien armada…"

"We're screwed?"

"Probably, yes," Theodore said in a rather matter-of-fact manner. He didn't seem really concerned by this even though Will's eyes had noticeably widened. "However, we shouldn't be worrying about that just yet. Instead, we should be concerned with the increase of alien terrorism in recent months. As has been made clear in most newspapers and such, it is obvious that somehow these alien terror groups are getting organized. Whether it is from human sympathisers to their cause or just a bunch of smart prawns is uncertain. What we can be certain is that these terrorists are dangerous threats to our security. That's why this new team's been formed, in order to concentrate solely on these terrorist threats and deal with them appropriately.

"I think what MNU is concerned about is that things may end with a full-blown revolution. Considering that there are almost three million prawns in residence in this country a revolution would be a very bad thing indeed, especially if a large percentage of these prawns could get hold of weapons. In most of the terrorist attacks that have occurred already it seems that most of the prawn terrorists have indeed gotten hold of weapons, both of their own advanced technology and of human construction. Thus, it seems logical to assume that some human sympathisers to their cause have supplied them with human weaponry…"

"I thought most alien weapons had been confiscated during the eviction from District 9?" Samuel asked.

"It would be impossible to gather every alien gun, especially if we were never sure just how many there were in the first place. And it seems logical that these prawn terrorists have attacked some of the very convoys that had been transporting these weapons to secure facilities, which would hint that someone is feeding them information…Again, it's obvious that someone is getting them organized. The fear is, the more confident these prawns get the higher the chance of a complete rebellion, one that could erupt into a full scale war. Naturally no other nation would really want to help us out, especially since most of the world's superpowers see us as the oppressors. Some might even say that we have it coming…"

"That's a bit harsh," Samuel said, frowning.

Theodore shrugged.

"You have to understand that it was MNU who first put the prawns into District 9," Theodore continued, "and that District 9 was a harsh place with terrible living conditions and rampant crime. And, just because nobody liked living near a bunch of aliens MNU decided to move them in District 10 which is way out into the countryside. I see this as more of a temporary solution however, more of an 'out of sight' and 'out of mind' solution and one that won't last much longer. District 10 is becoming more of a city and less of the concentration camp it was intended to become. Births go uncontrolled and crime syndicates run good business, selling cat food by the truckload and running prostitution rings with ease."

"I thought MNU had people stationed there to keep a lookout on things?" Samuel asked, although his face was screwed up into a look of doubt, one concerning MNU's success in regards to District 10.

"They do…but not many nor can the mercenaries stationed at District 10 do much. There are probably about two hundred of them and three million prawns. That's a wide margin, if you ask me."

"So you're saying that something's going to happen? Something big and bad, like a full scale rebellion?"

Theodore paused to think about this for a moment. His answer came suddenly and bluntly.

"Yes, I do think a rebellion will occur," Theodore replied, "and not too long from now as well. If the prawns are indeed getting organized then it's important that we determine who is organizing them and how this is happening in order to have some success in quelling the effectiveness of this rebellion, hence why we were brought together in this new team. Frankly I was expecting this sort of team to be constructed sooner…"

Lukas was hungry and he was tiring of listening to Theodore Van Wyk's talk about the prawns. Lukas was more concerned about what was on his own mind, letting Theodore's well reasoned discussion enter one ear but slip out of the other almost immediately. He was still a little put-off by the sheer suddenness of this all but as Director Jonas Lochaeen had mentioned, circumstances were getting more desperate. The prawns were attacking more frequently and with further effectiveness with each week that passed.

"I fear that if the prawns do rebel and if they fail then there will be no stopping the retaliation the authorities will deliver," Theodore added with a resigned shake of his head, "There could very well be a Holocaust for the prawns. Ordinary civilians will take things into their own hands and go about trying to kill prawns while organizations such as MNU will be pressured into carrying out quick and effective action. We humans are no strangers to acts of genocide…"  
Samuel frowned when he heard this, as if he didn't quite like this idea.

"We're not like that," Samuel said defensively, "We're not all like Hitler and Pol Pot. Sure, there'll be retaliation if the prawns rebel…but genocide? I don't know…"

Theodore simply shrugged.

"I personally don't like to accept it but we humans are dark in nature…it's a fact. We as a race have been fighting amongst ourselves for as long as we've existed. We don't treat what we barely know about very well…hence why the prawns are in the position they are now: oppressed and disliked. It's only understandable that they get a bit discontented with that arrangement. However, this discontent may lead to their undoing for as I have just said, a failed rebellion would get a lot of humans in South Africa out to deliver payback. The prawns would undoubtedly kill many innocents during the rebellion and thus a lot of people would be affected by it. Hence you would have a hell of a lot of people going out to kill prawns in return. You would have a full scale war, one that cannot possibly go well for the prawns since they are outnumbered and completely outgunned. Despite their weapons technology they will still be beaten badly with coordinated military tactics. It wouldn't take much to set off a tactical nuclear device in District 10, regardless of the political fallout that would occur after its detonation."

"So you're basically saying we humans are complete and utter bastards who would gladly eradicate a whole species?" Samuel asked.

Theodore nodded, having delivered his point.

"That's about the extent of it," he replied, "It's not a harsh judgement, especially since we've already sent plenty of species to extinction and others to the brink of it. How different would killing off all the prawns be?"

Lukas stood up at that moment, leaving the three others at the table to dwell on this question. The engineer started towards where the platters of heated food were laid out at the front of the cafeteria, finding himself a tray before he went to survey what was on offer. The television set up in the corner of the cafeteria was loudly blaring a midday news report. Lukas managed a passing glance towards it as he started for where the burgers were laid out on offer.

"_And in recent news, activist groups have made progress in their continuing moves to pressure the South African government into severing all ties with Multinational United. It is part of an effort to remove what many have described as 'oppressive' and 'xenophobic' restrictions that the corporation has placed upon the nonhumans who inhabit District 10. If these moves succeed then it is likely that MNU will lose all government support and be forced to close down its South Africa branch…"_

Lukas decided against the rather ordinary burger and instead found a reasonably sized hot chicken roll. Scooping a large amount of fries onto his tray as well as taking with him a few servings of chocolate cake for dessert, Lukas returned to the table just as Theodore was discussing some of the finer points of his work. This time around Lukas did listen as he ate, trying to get his mind off of the doubts in his mind and onto the more positive aspects of things such as the more "interesting" work he would face. They were heading out to District 9 tomorrow after all and that place, from what Lukas had heard was certainly interesting…well, interesting for a crime-ridden slum.

"I remember some of the earlier experiments we did with some willing prawns some years ago," Theodore said.

"Willing prawns?" Samuel raised an eyebrow, sceptical about this.

Theodore nodded.

"Yes, it's surprising what you can get a prawn to do when you give them enough cat food," Theodore replied before managing a slight chuckle. He soon continued: "We tried some social experiments to see how they would react in everyday situations. I and my research associates put one in an office and told him to file some papers…"

"What happened?"

"He tore them up and told us to go fuck ourselves," Theodore said, "at least, he delivered the equivalent of the word 'fuck' to us in his native tongue. Not only that but he urinated on the expensive leather chair in the office. All of it was actually quite funny, especially when I look back on it now. Although as a result of his misbehaviour he didn't get his cat food. Instead, we sent him off to the genetics researchers in the secure labs."

Lukas frowned as he was taking another bite from the chicken roll. Theodore was discussing all of this as if it was like an ordinary conversation, such as discussing movies they had recently seen or the quality of restaurants they had recently visited. Theodore had sent the prawn featured in his experiment to its death as a test subject in MNU's genetics research and yet Theodore didn't seem to have any qualms about it. In fact, he seemed to be joking about it. Lukas was only slightly unnerved by this and so continued with eating his chicken roll, taking slow careful bites as Theodore continued talking. It seemed that this man didn't know when to shut up.

"Due to all those experiments we managed to determine that the prawns are quite capable of intelligent thinking, some more than others. Of course, back then MNU wasn't so open about what it discovered about the prawns and decided to keep this secret, delivering all sorts of propaganda to the public about the prawns being stupid and animal-like. Maybe this is true…but if so, it is a mere half-truth. There are plenty of prawns out there, like Christopher Johnson, who are more than capable of intelligent thought. I would know…I've spent the last two decades researching them." Theodore took a sip from his glass of water at this moment, eyeing the three men seated at the table with him carefully.

"That's a big lunch you got there, Lukas," Will said suddenly, taking a glance down at what was on Lukas' tray.

Lukas looked up, polishing off the last of his chicken roll as he did so. He had been caught off-guard by the question but it registered in his mind a moment later. He was somewhat thankful that Theodore had stopped talking, having instead gotten up to get his own lunch.

"Uh…yeah, it is," Lukas replied rather absently, starting on the large pile of fries stacked in a bowl on his lunch tray.

"I wouldn't touch that fatty stuff," Will said, "I prefer salads. Without the dressing…"

"Yeah, because the dressing could be poisoned," Samuel finished in a condescending tone, rolling his eyes as he did so. Will simply ignored him.

"You work out much, Lukas?" Will asked, his attention still fixed on the engineer.

"Most days, but never anything gruelling," Lukas replied. It was certainly a better topic of conversation than the one Theodore had been going on about. Then again, when Lukas was given a chance to talk about himself he never let it slip by. He had always prided himself on being modest…at least, most times.

"I usually take a jog or do some sit ups," Lukas added, "something easy like that. It keeps the kilos off…If there's one thing I wouldn't like happening to me it would be getting fat."

"And yet you eat that much of that fatty food," Will said, somewhat incredulously.

Lukas shrugged.

"I work off the calories."

"Either that or you have a fast metabolism," Samuel interjected, "You know, you're one of those people who can eat and eat and eat yet you never gain a lot of weight?"

Lukas had never really thought of this. He had always thought it was the exercise that kept him as the reasonably slim and fit man he was. Maybe it was that _and_ the fast metabolism he apparently had. He wasn't about to stop the exercise though…the fear of suddenly stacking on a lot of weight was always on his mind. Lukas knew he was perhaps a bit too overly conscious about his weight but he had been for most of his life. He wasn't anywhere near changing in regards to this.

"I never thought about that…" Lukas replied.

"Well, now you have my wise words to consider," Samuel said with a smile, "unlike you, I have to be careful about how much I eat. I'm always working out, although my job as one of, uh…MNU's 'security personnel' seems to be a workout all in itself. That way I don't always have to put aside time for exercise when I'm doing it during my duties here. And now I think this whole 'fighting terrorism' business is going to be a lot more gruelling than a simple security guard position."

Lukas nodded, listening to each of the mercenary's words as he ate fry after fry. He noticed that the fries needed perhaps more salt, especially when it occurred to him that they were completely lacking salt. He decided to rectify this immediately by grabbing the salt shaker from the centre of the table. He proceeded to shake a rather overzealous load of salt onto the remaining portion of fries.

His mother had always told him about the risks to having a lot of salt on a meal. It would pack on the kilograms faster and maybe give him the gout. Lukas wasn't entirely sure what the gout was (and he never bothered to ask) and so had salted pretty much every hot meal he had eaten throughout his life, ranging from simple fries to full steak dinners.

"I'm sort of hungry myself," Samuel said, his gaze shifting over to where the assorted platters of food were set up at the other end of the cafeteria. "Although I also sort of had a big breakfast, with muffins and cereal and stuff…"

"I could do with a burger, though," he added, "Something with cheese…Did they have any cheeseburgers when you went up there?"

Lukas shook his head.

"I can't remember…but they probably did."

"Good," Samuel said, "I like cheeseburgers." He got up and set off with a casual swagger in his walk. With him gone it was only Will and Lukas sitting at the table and Will spoke almost immediately.

"There's something I can't quite put my finger on about this," he said.

Lukas stopped eating and turned his gaze to a concerned looking Will, trying to work out what he was referring to.

"About what?"

"This whole team thing," Will said.

"So?" Lukas asked. Sure, he had his own doubts but he didn't think much of them anymore. They were mostly unfounded, last minute jitters, that sort of thing…He was sure this new job, fighting terrorism, would be far more exciting than typical office work.

"MNU usually takes weeks planning this sort of thing and would announce it with at least a week's notice," Will continued, "but this…This all happened today. It's as if they already had the plans made but didn't bother to tell anyone about them."

"They're in a desperate position…" Lukas could see what Will was trying to get at but didn't really know what to think himself. Currently he was trying his best to clear his mind of the many contradicting thoughts he was having about the whole thing. It would no doubt be an exciting new experience fighting terrorism and going into hot-zones like District 9…but, as Will was saying and as Lukas had been thinking it had all come to them on such short notice.

Before either of them could discuss the topic further both Theodore and Samuel had returned with trays of food. Samuel's tray was rather sparse, containing a lone cheeseburger and single slice of chocolate cake. Theodore had helped himself to a large serving of Caesar salad with dressing as well as some prawns (the seafood variant). He had started to pick away at the outer shell on one of the small orange-red, deceased and recently cooked sea creatures.

These days eating normal sea-faring native-to-Earth prawns had become a bit of a joke. Didn't the Nigerians in District 9 have a habit of eating alien "prawn" parts? Lukas found himself eyeing Theodore's attempts at peeling the shell off of the sea prawn with a careful gaze. It seemed to be a rare occasion when somebody was game enough to eat ordinary orange sea prawns out in public for fear of having numerous jokes hurled their way ("_Hey, I didn't think you had that sort of taste in food!"_)

"This burger's kind of…" Samuel paused for a moment, chewing what he had bitten from his cheeseburger in a careful manner. "It's sort of…sub-par. As in, _crap_."

"Looks like you're having trouble there," Will said, watching Theodore's attempts of peeling the shell off of the prawn.

Theodore looked up just as he managed to peel a large chunk of the shell off as well as take half of the prawn's meaty bits with it. He dropped the lot onto his plate and simply shook his head.

"I don't think they've been cooked thoroughly," he commented.

Samuel had put the burger back on his plate, chewing what was still in his mouth while wearing a careful gaze. He seemed to be about to deliver a detailed critique on the quality of the cheeseburger before Will spoke before him, sending whatever Samuel was about to say into non-fruition.

"We're off to District 9 tomorrow…You think we'll find much there?" Will asked, steering the conversation to a more pressing topic.

"It's possible the prawns have some sort of terrorist operation going on there since it seems a logical place to do so," Theodore replied, "the place is mostly derelict and abandoned, save for the large amount of prawns still living there illegally. Chances are we'll come across all sorts of criminal activity to top things off. The Nigerians are still in business from what I've heard."

Lukas continued eating his fries, letting the others talk while he just sat and listened. He was certain that going into District 9 would make for a new experience but possibly even a confronting one…life for the illegal prawn in District 9 wasn't pretty.

"Chances are we'll be looking for possible arms caches and stolen MNU equipment," Theodore continued, "There shouldn't be much else to look for. There will be plenty of angry prawns to watch out for, although I'm certain that if things are handled well we shouldn't need to start shooting…unless, of course, they shoot at us."

Lukas raised an eyebrow. Getting shot at may have been a possibility but he certainly wasn't looking forward to it.

"Do you think they will?" He asked.

Theodore took a moment to answer.

"Depends on whether we piss them off enough, or stumble upon an arms cache or something like it," Theodore said, "either that or they might just not like us humans. Either way I wouldn't be surprised if shooting did in fact start up…It isn't unheard of."  
And with this thought in mind, Lukas Farber finished his lunch off feeling a little queasy. Maybe it was the fatty food or maybe it was the feeling that this new job would be bringing with it more danger than he would have preferred. The last thing he needed was to die and leave his wife without a husband and daughter without a father…

"Let's hope we don't piss them off then," Samuel said rather bluntly.

"You feeling alright, Lukas?" Will asked, noticing Lukas' slight change in demeanour and worried look.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Lukas replied.

"If you get scared, you can hide behind me," Samuel said jokingly, "besides, I'm sure there won't be any trouble."

Lukas was left to ponder all of these points for the remainder of the day, unable to quite determine if this new job would be worth the danger. It wouldn't be until tomorrow when he found out.


	9. The Sniper

**The Sniper  
**MNU Headquarters, Johannesburg  
June 10th, 2013  
1430 Hours

"Now, you see the standard prawn ain't gonna stay still for very long," Hermes Kossel said, hefting the rifle in his hands as he spoke. He could feel its cold metallic grip against his fingers and its weight in his arms, tracing his left hand along the side of its barrel in a fairly loving manner. He couldn't help but smile as he did so, remembering quite clearly all the times such a weapon had kept him alive. It might have been sensible to say that he and his sniper rifle shared a special bond: he looked after it, cleaned it, maintained it and made sure to keep it looking shiny and new. In return it kept him alive and provided him with numerous fun occasions, most of which consisted of picking prawns off from a distance. He prided himself on the fact that he could very well shoot the wings off a fly with it, although he was yet to successfully do so.

He stood in a large basement firing range that was located underneath one of MNU's Johannesburg headquarters outer wing buildings. The MNU complexes consisted of the main headquarters building and several smaller structures, each dedicated to housing some of the corporation's specialised projects. One of them housed the Extraterrestrial Affairs Department while across the wide open courtyard and lawns that took up some of the complex's ground was where MNU's Johannesburg Security Division had its headquarters. The so-called "Security Division" consisted up of several hundred personnel who were either mercenaries or militia and had been employed by MNU to work here in South Africa. Hermes was a mercenary and he wasn't afraid to admit it. He worked for money just like most other people, even if part of his job involved killing. Most of the things he killed were just prawns anyway and no one cared about prawns.

The firing range was a few floors underground, residing as a rather grey and drab room that extended out by a few hundred metres. This supplied the visitors with a reasonably sized shooting course, although Hermes didn't find its short distances to be very useful for sniper practice. Rather, he preferred heading out into the countryside and practicing against targets that were at least five hundred metres away, preferably farther if he could find the right sort of place. He could shoot a soft drink can off of a tree stump from a kilometre away with his sniper rifle, even in the harshest of wind conditions and uneven elevations. Some would have found him cocky, arrogant even. Still, there was no denying that he knew how to do his job. He was the ideal man to cover any team from afar, keeping watch on the team's surroundings as they went on to carry out their mission. He had seen plenty of action during the mass eviction of the prawns from District 9, riding up high in a helicopter while outfitted in standard MNU sniper gear. He would pick off any prawns that caused trouble, all from the relative safety of the helicopter which would be buzzing over it all from up high. In fact, he probably hadn't gotten close to a prawn before nor had he really gotten into the "thick of it" when trouble did start. As a result some cast doubts onto his courage but he simply ignored those critics. As long as he remained safe he would be happy with his job and as long as he got paid he would be even happier. He was thinking that his job was perhaps one of the easiest someone like him could have.

"They're gonna move around a hell of a lot," He continued, barely noticing that Kyle Berman wasn't listening to him.

Kyle was about his age and another of the mercenaries that had been recently assigned to Colonel Keller's team. He had been late to this morning's meeting, having slept in. Now he sat on a cheap plastic chair nearby, flicking through the morning's newspaper. He barely managed a glance up at Hermes who was busy standing in place, polishing his sniper rifle. Hermes had been at this for the last ten minutes, always finding some slight imperfection in his rifle's look which had to be wiped clean away.

Kyle had brown hair and lighter brown eyes, his chin covered with a slight growth that he hadn't bothered to shave in the past few days. He was about the same age as Hermes and both of them had gone to the same school together. Both were close friends and had been for many years. Kyle was barely paying Hermes so much as an upwards glance, keeping his attention focused on the articles in the newspaper and nothing else.

"And when I get the order, I simply take aim and…" He raised the sniper rifle and peered through the scope, making a quiet but clear "Bang" sound as he mimicked firing. Kyle finally did look up at this instant, eyeing Hermes carefully as he lowered the rifle.

"What kind of rifle is that?" Kyle asked, his tone level.

Hermes frowned, noticing that his friend probably hadn't been paying much attention. Kyle had lowered the newspaper, an expectant gaze forming on his features.

"A Tango-51," Hermes replied. The rifle itself was painted with a dark green epoxy finish, one that managed to suck in most of the light that made contact with it. The barrel was black and somewhat shinier, glinting in the dry white light of the room. The rifle was bolt-action and held about five rounds at any one time, having a slow rate of fire but dead-on accuracy.

"Never heard of it," Kyle said.

Hermes rolled his eyes. One thing over the years that Hermes had learnt about Kyle was that he wasn't really that bright.

"It's built on the design of the Remington R700…"

"Haven't heard of that either," Kyle said.

Hermes frowned. Kyle was also a bit thick-headed so explaining anything to him would take a fair amount of effort. He had never done too well at school from what Hermes could remember of their time there together. The only subjects Kyle had ever done well at were the sports related ones…which may explain why he hadn't ended up a doctor or a lawyer, instead becoming one of the typical mercenaries that MNU was always looking to hire.

Hermes always wondered just what had gone wrong in his life to make him a mercenary. He had done fairly well at school and had gone on to join the South African Defence Forces, getting himself enrolled in the marksman side of things. He had always had good aim with any sort of firearm and had decided to capitalise on this, working his way through the marksman course and onto bigger and better things. There had been a possible position in the South African equivalent of a Special Forces team but something had gone wrong…rather, he had gotten involved in a brawl in the mess hall one night and had "accidentally" killed someone he hadn't really liked that much. The court marshal had been followed with a dishonourable discharge and Hermes was left with little choice but to find other employment. Now he was here, working in MNU as one of their best marksmen and getting paid a hell of a lot of money for it.

"You don't know a lot about guns, do you?" Hermes asked.

"I don't bother with the specifics," Kyle replied, frowning a little. He didn't like it when someone was insulting his intelligence. "Though I do know how to handle one: you just point and shoot. Easy as cake…"

"You mean pie?"

"Sorry?"

Hermes sighed.

"The expression isn't 'easy as cake'. It's actually 'easy as pie'."

Kyle seemed to consider this briefly, as if it had never occurred to him before. Chances are it hadn't.

"Really?"

"Yeah…"

Kyle shrugged before returning his gaze to the newspaper spread across his lap. He turned the page, reading the articles that interested him carefully while simply seeming to forget about the conversation he had just had.

Hermes shook his head and returned his attention towards what was set up across the firing range. Right at the very far end, perhaps three hundred metres away was a scale poster of the silhouette of a typical prawn. There were numerous bullet holes on the wall around it as well as a few in the poster itself. Hermes figured he could probably do better and so reached for the box of 7.62mm ammunition that was in front of him. He took about three of the bullets and slid the bolt back on the Tango-51 rifle, loading each of the bullets into the weapon carefully. Once all three were in he pushed the smooth sliding bolt back into place and brought the rifle up to his shoulder.

He figured he would need some practice if they were indeed heading out to District 9 tomorrow. The trip would probably be quite the same as his previous ones to the district: he would ride up high in a helicopter, keeping watch on everything below. If there were any troublesome prawns he would simply blow them away, taking careful aim and putting a round into the head of each of the troublemaking aliens. He had done it many times before and had absolutely no qualms about doing it again.

"Some activist group leader's saying how nothing's been done about the prawns still in District 9," Kyle said suddenly, breaking Hermes' concentration.

Hermes, not at all interested in whatever Kyle had read in the newspaper was still distracted enough to lower his rifle and turn around to face his seated friend. The annoyance was clear in the expression he gave but Kyle didn't notice.

"He's saying how we should ship them out rather than let them be exposed to all sorts of dangers, like those self-titled 'prawn hunters' who head in and start killing prawns," Kyle continued, skimming through the article in question once more. Finally he looked up at Hermes, expecting some sort of input.

"What do you think?" He asked Hermes.

"What do I think?" Hermes said, more to himself than to Kyle. Kyle still heard it and nodded in response.

"I think we should just bomb the whole fucking district," Hermes said bluntly, "it's a smear upon this city's landscape. It's like a skid mark at the bottom of a pristine white toilet bowl, the type that refuses to go away when you flush…"

"I didn't think you thought that," Kyle said, a little unnerved by the dead serious response he had received from his friend.

Hermes was quite adamant in what he was saying. The annoyance at Kyle's interruption was still clear since Hermes had been looking forward to getting some firing practice today. Why he had invited Kyle along in the first place was beyond him.

"Yeah, well, you learn something new every day, don't you?" Hermes asked, returning his attention back to his rifle and the target pasted onto the far wall down the range.

"Not really," Kyle continued, "I don't think I learned anything yesterday…"

Hermes held the rifle tightly, minimizing the noticeable movement of the scope as he peered through it. All he had to do put the crosshairs dead on the place he wanted to shoot…

"And I have to disagree with your suggestion about bombing the place," Kyle said, "I doubt anyone would want to drop bombs on any part of Johannesburg…"

Hermes sighed and lowered the rifle, his concentration broken again. Kyle didn't seem at all concerned with what Hermes might have been thinking and whether or not he might have actually been annoying him. Rather, Kyle continued talking unfazed and denied Hermes the peace he needed to complete his shot.

"Besides, killing _that_ many prawns at once is bound to cause uproar. This country's in enough of a tough state already without it needing to receive more dislike from the world's superpowers…As far as I can tell, the Americans and the Brits don't think too highly of how we're treating our alien guests…"

"Yeah well, who gives a shit?" Hermes replied through gritted teeth, thinking he ought to simply bash Kyle over the head with the butt of his rifle. If there was one thing that got on Hermes nerves it was when someone interrupted his shot or concentration in general.

"Plenty of people seem to," Kyle said immediately, holding up the newspaper and pointing to one of the pictures. Hermes didn't bother to look, instead waiting for Kyle to stop talking. Chances are that wouldn't happen for a while.

"This guy in this photo, he's always going on about giving the prawns equality," Kyle went on much to Hermes' chagrin, "Haven't you heard of him?"

"Who?"

"Wilson Drakes, big pro-prawn equality activist. I'm pretty sure he's the one who's been organizing the protests that are going on outside and have been going on for the past few months. He's gotten himself all over the news lately, haven't you seen?"

Hermes hadn't nor did he care. He didn't care much about anything to do with the prawns, just as long as someone got rid of them eventually. Giving them equal rights would no doubt lead to trouble and a real sort of societal decay. It was absurd to think that the prawns would one day be walking the streets equal with all the rights of a human…For one, they weren't even human. And for another they were quite unlike any human. They were animals and animals didn't deserve the same rights as humans did. Having animals living in the same sort of way of a human would be just plain wrong.

"No, I haven't seen him," Hermes said sternly, shooting a mean-eyed glance at his friend, "nor do I give a damn about him. So with that settled, can you just shut the hell up? I'm trying to concentrate!"

Kyle seemed to take the hint and so fell silent. Hermes, finally now able to shift his attention onto something that was of far greater interest to him turned back to face the target that was down range. He peered once more through his sniper rifle's scope, taking his time to line up the perfect shot that would send the bullet right between the paper prawn's eyes…

And the door of the firing range opened with a loud _creak!_ Hermes gritted his teeth, lowering the rifle yet again as he sent his gaze towards the metal door that was several metres to his left. It had opened wide, revealing the imposing figure of Colonel Francis Keller who stood with a rather stern expression on his face. He had a cigar sticking from the corner of his mouth, one that wafted thin trails of smoke as he puffed on it lightly.

Keller seemed a typically competent stern military man. He was apparently a former Green Beret, one who had seen his fair share of action and had killed his fair share of people. He was in his usual outfit of grey fatigues and a black vest to match. He wore a shiny pistol at his waist holster, giving the impression of a cowboy from some old Western movie.

Behind him stood that crazy bitch Sarah Taylor. Hermes immediately felt a pang of both annoyance and fear at her arrival. She was certainly intimidating, especially with that fiery crazy look that was always in her eyes. Hermes tried to avoid eye contact with her, especially after she had proven her intimidating nature by stealing his combat knife before that meeting this morning. He had been able to tell from the way that she had held that blade to his throat that maybe getting on her bad side wasn't a wise thing to do.

"Oh Christ, here comes that crazy bitch," Hermes inadvertently found himself whispering. No one else heard him which was perhaps for the best.

Both Keller and Sarah walked in, the door slamming shut loudly behind them. Keller managed a look at both Hermes and Kyle, acknowledging both of their presences before stopping at the booth to the left of the one Hermes was standing at. Sarah stopped at cabinets of weapons at the rear of the room, surveying what was on offer.

"Hermes, I was expecting you'd be here," Keller said, turning around to face the young mercenary, "You seem the type who takes his weapon usage damned seriously."

"Uh…yeah, you could say that…" Hermes had been annoyed at all the interruptions but now he was faced with both the no-nonsense Colonel Keller and crazy Sarah Taylor. He quickly lost the pissed-off demeanour he had been displaying and managed to put on a far more approachable one.  
"I _am_ saying it," Keller said. As he spoke he took off his waist holster and set it and the weapon within on the bench in front of him. He looked towards Kyle, taking a moment to realize that the man was in fact a member of his new team.

"And you must be Kyle," Keller said, his tone nothing but neutral.

Kyle looked up from the newspaper he was reading, a stupid look on his face as he made eye contact with the Colonel.

"Colonel Weller?" Kyle asked uncertainly.

"It's Keller, you moron," Keller snapped and Kyle fell silent. The Colonel seemed to smile at this reaction before losing interest in the mercenary as he turned his attention back to the firing range ahead.

"And uh…what brings you down to the firing range?" Hermes asked, deciding he may as well strike up conversation. He could try and get on the Colonel's good side, a move that would obviously be well rewarded when they finally got out on the field. Hermes had tried the same on his previous squad leaders and where this plan had succeeded it had paid off nicely, resulting in a much easier going job.

Keller frowned when he heard this question, the corners of his mouth slightly quivering as he bordered on creating another of his broad smiles. He didn't make it though, keeping his expression decidedly neutral.

"What kind of question is that, Hermes?" Keller asked.

"Uh…" Before Hermes could reply the Colonel interrupted him, answering his own question.

"It's a stupid question, that's what," Keller finished, taking the cigar from his mouth and holding it in the fingers of his right hand. He held it for a while, its tip trailing smoke as he spoke.

"I came down here to shoot, what the hell else do you think I'm going to do?" He asked, shaking his head in an almost incredulous fashion, "They call this a 'firing range' for a reason, you know? It's where you go to fire stuff, usually guns. And that's what I intend on doing. So quit asking me stupid questions."

"Right…" Hermes wasn't too sure on what else he could say. The Colonel did seem a bit intense although this was probably all just a part of his personality. During the meeting this morning the Colonel had been positively beaming but this was probably all part of an act to appear far friendlier than he did in actuality.

"You see this?" Keller asked, pulling the shiny silver pistol out of the holster he had placed on the table. He held it up for Hermes to see, as if it was some sort of personal prize of his.

"Uh…it's a gun…"

"Yes, but it's not just any ordinary gun. It's my personal weapon of choice," Keller replied, shaking his head at Hermes' apparent naivety. The pistol he held up was finished with a shiny silver chrome look while its grip was black and contrasted greatly to the silver. It had a slightly different look than most other pistols had, with a pronounced barrel that seemed longer than other pistol barrels.

"It's seen me through thick and thin," Keller continued, "and it's never let me down. In fact, I doubt it ever will."

"And uh…" Hermes didn't really care much for Keller's "personal weapon of choice" but didn't see how he could escape this conversation without annoying the Colonel. Playing along seemed the safest bet for now, especially when the Colonel was beaming with pride like he was now.

"It's an Automag .44," Keller explained, "a bit of a rarity these days but damn, it can punch a hole through anything. And I bet it can do similar to a prawn. You ever killed a prawn?"

"Yeah…"

"I haven't," Keller admitted, shrugging, "I only just arrived in this country last night anyway. They dragged me off from a fairly comfortable position in South America to bring me here. Apparently this whole new team thing is _really_ important, important enough for them to drag me out here. I couldn't refuse the offer to lead though, especially when I'm getting paid a lot of money. And if there's one thing in this world that remains constant, it's money.

"That's why the life of a mercenary is always easy to understand," Keller continued, "There ain't no politics in being a mercenary. There's just your next job and the money that you get for the one you just finished. There's none of that backstabbing bullshit you can find in politics and stuff, just money. It's the one constant in this world that never lets you down if you know how to handle it."

Though Hermes was inclined to disagree with the Colonel's philosophy he didn't say anything, preferring to get on with his target practice. He was yet to fire a shot because of all of these interruptions. Anymore and he might actually start getting really annoyed.

"I had to read me a great deal of files while on the flight down here," Keller went on, spinning the Automag .44 pistol around in his right hand like some sort of Western movie cowboy while he spoke, "and that reading included all this stuff about prawns and alien weaponry and all that shit. Some of it was rather interesting, especially with what's been going on now. And let me tell you, when I get given a job I intend on finishing it. That's why I intend on eradicating prawn terrorism entirely, even if it does seem like a bit of a daunting task. It'll take time but I'm sure we'll get rid of it…mostly…"

Hermes was listening, more because he was afraid of the Colonel's reaction if he completely ignored him. Kyle was flicking through the newspaper, barely listening while Sarah had gotten herself a Vektor R4 rifle (a standard-issue South African military rifle, based on the design of the Russian AK-74). She stepped up to the booth, loaded a fresh magazine into the rifle and held it in a firing position as she took aim. She fired a few rounds, each of them hitting the poster of the silhouette of a prawn that was down the range by about one hundred metres. Each bullet tore a hole into the poster prawn's head, her aim barely faltering. The rifle's shots echoed loudly throughout the firing range and Kyle noticeably flinched when he heard the first one.

"You know, I think I like you Hermes," Keller said, "as a friend, of course."

"Uh…really?" Hermes couldn't recall doing anything to earn trust with Keller but he wasn't about to argue with the Colonel about it. Maybe this whole new team wouldn't be so bad after all.

"You're a good listener," Keller continued, spinning the pistol around in his right hand again, "you know when to keep your mouth shut. Sarah over there, she can get a bit annoying sometimes since she doesn't really know when to keep her mouth shut. I still like her though. She seems a very capable woman…"

Hermes managed a glance over at Sarah, seeing that she was busy firing her rifle and thus in no position to listen in on the conversation. Hermes wasn't sure on whether she was simply "crazy" rather than "capable". He wasn't about to tell Keller this of course.

Keller flicked a switch at his booth and a mechanism whirred briefly. A target poster dropped from the ceiling about seventy metres down the range in line with Keller. It was a standard prawn silhouette poster and was clean of bullet holes. Keller was thinking of rectifying this as he took aim with his Automag .44, taking a moment to adjust his aim before pulling the trigger. The pistol thundered loudly and the end of its barrel flashed, the weapon recoiling slightly in Keller's grip. He fired several times more, emptying all nine rounds in the pistol's magazine into the poster down the range.

Once he was down he lowered the pistol which now had a smoking tip and pressed a button on the panel in his booth. The poster slid towards him until it was within his reach and he gripped it with his left hand, surveying his handiwork.

Nine bullet holes were clustered into the head of the dark silhouette of the prawn. Both eyes had been replaced with bullet holes and if that prawn had in fact been real it wouldn't have had much of a head left. Keller was grinning, impressed with his own shooting skills.

"Damn, I'm good," he said, letting go of the poster. He turned to Hermes who had been watching this all carefully.

"What do you think?" Keller asked, "I'm good, ain't I?"

"Uh…" Hermes decided that he should just play along. The Colonel certainly knew how to shoot.

"Yeah, you're good," Hermes replied.

Keller smiled broadly.

"I knew you'd agree!" He said happily. "What about you, Hermes? I heard you were the best sniper in MNU…"

Hermes shrugged.

"I guess so…"

"How many prawns have you killed?" Keller asked.

Hermes was put a little off-guard by the question but he quickly composed himself, trying to determine a rough estimate in his head. He wasn't sure whether it was anything to be proud of but it seemed that these days a lot of MNU mercenaries were bragging about it.

"Maybe fifty, around-about that mark…"

"All confirmed?"

"Yeah…"

"Then you're no doubt going to be an excellent asset to this team," Keller replied, although his expression had gone back to neutral. He was a man who even when he was impressed did not show it. He was only ever impressed with himself, made clear by his reaction to his shooting just before.

Hermes couldn't help but feel a little better about himself as Keller cheerfully patted him on the shoulder.

"Uh…thanks…" Hermes managed to say.

"I always pride myself on being a nice guy," Colonel Keller replied, smiling again. This time it was a slightly unnerving smile but Hermes barely noticed, instead thinking that being part of this new team was going to be far more exciting than his previous position as a mere MNU mercenary in the security division. His last big operation had been the mass eviction of the prawns from District 9 which had been more than two years ago. Now he was going to go on another "big operation" and it would perhaps bring with it more excitement than the last one. They would be fighting terrorism after all.

"There are just a few issues I have with this team in general," Keller said, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone, "especially with all those non-combat guys we got, like the computer geeks and engineers."

"What about them?" Hermes could tell from the look on the Colonel's face that he didn't really like the prospect of working with a bunch of non-combat oriented people.

"They're going to get in the way," Keller replied in a stern manner, "sure, they may be needed and all but I really don't like the idea of being stuck with a bunch of dweebs who don't know how to handle guns. And I know that if anything happens to any of them, I'll get the blame for it. We mercenaries will all get blamed for it."

"What are you suggesting?" Hermes wasn't quite sure about what Keller was trying to get at. Keller was definitely thinking of some sort of scheme, something he wasn't too sure about.

"I'm suggesting nothing," Keller replied, "I'm just sharing my uncertainties about these morons, the ones who will get in the way and jeopardize the success of this operation. What do you think?"  
Hermes took a moment to answer.

"I agree with you," Hermes said although in actuality he didn't really care. "They'll get in the way…"

"Damn right they will," Keller said, "And yet we're stuck looking after them. Does that strike you as fair?"

"Not really…"

"That's because it isn't fair," Keller added, "I hate escort missions. They piss me off. Don't you think so?"

Hermes shrugged. The way Keller was talking made it sound as if he had some sort of plan in store for these people.

"Uh…yeah, I guess…"

Keller smiled, patting Hermes on the shoulder again. The seriousness in his voice was gone all of a sudden, replaced with a rather cheerful tone.

"Good to see we're on the same page," Keller said, "good to see that. Just stay sharp, alright?"

"Right…"

And Keller left Hermes to ponder on what had been discussed, going over to speak with Sarah. In Hermes' opinion it seemed that Colonel Keller was a very strange man…a likeable but strange man. Hermes shrugged and decided to finally get on with the shooting practice he had been trying to get for the last half an hour before being interrupted.


	10. Sunrise over District 9 Part I

**Sunrise over District 9  
**District 9, Johannesburg  
June 11th, 2013  
0625 Hours

The first rays of morning sunlight were reaching across the horizon. The sun itself was only a partial yellow disc with only part of it visible over the open wilderness that spread out from Johannesburg. There were few clouds in the sky and they were mostly of the white puffy variant, the type often seen on warm days such as these.

The morning itself was fairly warm, as was often the case in a place like Johannesburg. The gentle breeze that wafted through the scrap heaps and shanties of District 9 was quite warm, a sure indication of another dry day in Johannesburg. Something loose rattled in the breeze nearby while a door to a nearby shanty creaked loudly.

Ever since the mass eviction of the alien "prawns" from District 9 the whole place had become a sort of ghost town. Metal and wooden shanties lay abandoned while assorted junk littered the narrow "streets" that went between blocks of shacks. About half of the district had been demolished, leaving nothing but barren grassy land littered with all sorts of junk. Corrugated iron sheets, rotting planks of wood and discarded appliances (toasters, fridges, etc.) littered these barren pastures, hinting towards the states of the lives of those who had once inhabited this dreary run-down place. The shanties that still stood were the furthest from Johannesburg, situated on dry sandy land and covered with the evidence of past battles fought here. There was still a large area of the district left, even if the bulldozers and other construction/destruction equipment had been left lying around where the razed sections met the still-standing sections. Some of this construction equipment had since gathered wear and tear over its time left abandoned while most had been stripped of useful parts by scavengers, whether those scavengers were human or alien.

Empty bullet casings littered some of the larger streets amongst the shanty town that was District 9. Bullet holes were clearly visible in some of the stone walls that helped to break up the district and separate the larger shanties. Graffiti, some of it a decade old, covered almost every inch of every available stone wall in the district. Slogans such as "POWER TO THE PRAWNS" and "DOWN WITH MNU" were mainly what this graffiti consisted of as well as plenty more derogatory comments to do with the prawns or their human oppressors. In fact many people had come through here over the years, spray-painting whatever point they were trying to make on the available walls.

There were still plenty of prawns living in these slums, even if they had little access to proper food and water. The Nigerian cartel that had once been the main crime syndicate in District 9 was still in operation, albeit on a smaller scale. They still hawked cat food in exchange for anything the prawns may have on offer, ranging from household items to alien weaponry. The few water pumps located in the towns had since fallen under Nigerian control and it wasn't uncommon for Nigerian gangsters to make the prawns pay for use of the pumps. Sure, the prawns weren't in need of as much water as a standard human but when they did need it the Nigerians would make sure to sell it at obscene prices. Money wasn't common in District 9 but there were always items up for trade, alien weaponry being the main one.

The population of about fifty thousand prawns eked out a meagre existence in the remaining half of District 9, scavenging for food in the scrap heaps while occasionally making trips to the outskirts of Johannesburg when their searches of the scrap heaps came up fruitless. It wasn't far-fetched to think that every prawn in District 9 was addicted to cat food since this was probably true.

MNU couldn't touch District 9. As much as the corporation wanted the blot on the landscape that was the district removed, they simply couldn't carry out this scheme. The Nigerians were here and would cause plenty of trouble if MNU tried demolishing the rest of the district. There were fifty thousand prawns here, most unregistered in MNU's databases and all living here illegally. The term "illegal alien" had a literal application here in District 9. There were some prawns who had indeed become registered, given human names and made to sign the eviction notices during the mass eviction back in 2010. However, these select few prawns had managed to avoid being moved to District 10 and had instead stayed behind, most of them merely because they had been accidentally missed or deemed too troublesome to try and move. As powerful and efficient as MNU had been they still had missed plenty of prawns.

Thus the population in the slums of District 9 continued to grow. No one at MNU could be sure of the exact number since the majority of the prawns weren't registered and thus existed as nameless creatures who eked out whatever living they could. Births went uncontrolled yet most of the young "prawnlings" died shortly after they had been born, the conditions in District 9 simply too inhospitable for them to survive.

The human groups who were pro-prawn equality had made an effort in trying to improve the living standards of the prawns here in District 9. They were yet to be successful, instead concentrating more on the booming population in District 10 rather than those here in District 9. To the more intelligent prawns who lived in these slums their situations seemed hopeless. They were doomed to live in squalid conditions, barely surviving while at constant threat from Nigerian gangsters and bored South African "prawn hunters" who simply killed the aliens for the fun of it.

Those few prawns who had human names and lived in District 9 had since become the leaders of the community here. While most would not have willingly accepted being leaders they had more or less had the responsibilities fall upon them, especially when surrounded by so many of their own kind who were malnourished and highly addicted to cat food. The majority of these few named prawns who lived in District 9 had since succumbed to either illness, overdose on cat food or had simply been shot by gangsters or prawn hunters. There were only a few left and even those few were in constant danger of meeting similar fates.

The world had since forgotten about District 9. Aside from the Nigerian gangsters and prawn hunters, very few humans actually visited District 9 anymore. There was little reason to, especially since most ordinary humans had no interest in slums and dirty malnourished aliens. Even the equal rights activists seemed to have stopped dropping by, probably having been scared off by the Nigerians and the constant violence that ravaged these slums.

Sitting alone in a paddock littered with assorted junk was a dark brown, almost black prawn. The paddock here gave an excellent view of the savannah landscape that unfolded out from Johannesburg and continued towards the horizon. The prawn watched the sunset with mild interest, although the majority of his attention was focused on the aluminium can he gripped in his right claw-like hand.

He was about nineteen in human years, his hard brown and black exo-skeletal features well-rounded and well-built. He wasn't malnourished like most of the other prawns that inhabited District 9 but even so he was still going hungry most days, always yearning for some proper food but very rarely getting it. Curved lighter brown markings were on his upper arms while the lower half of one of his double-jointed legs was wrapped in a dirty set of bandages. He had taken a fall about a week earlier and he had landed in a rather awkward position upon that leg. He had been unable to run on it and only just able to walk on it, hobbling along at a rather slow pace. It seemed to be healing now although it still hurt a little.

His feline-like eyes were a bright brown-yellow colour, containing an inner bright look of vitality that wasn't uncommon in prawns his age. The feline-like pupils occasionally gazed towards the beautiful sunrise but mostly they remained focus on the aluminium can he held in his right hand. His left was fiddling with the top, trying to fit the large hard fingers through the ring that was there. All he had to do was pull it and it would open, yet he could barely fit even one of his fingers through.

He was one of the more intelligent prawns, even though all members of his kind were capable of independent thought that would put them on par with a human. During his years living in District 9 he had found himself some discarded clothing and so was now wearing a tattered, dirtied black leather jacket. It only just fit onto his curved alien frame while the matching set of dirty dark grey pants only reached up to his knees. However, he kept the clothes on for they had since become a part of his overall identity. They helped the other prawns recognize him as the community leader that he was.

The human corporation, Multinational United (MNU) had given him a name soon after he had been born: Vincent Matheson. It was the only name he had ever really known, even if his father had insisted upon calling him by his original alien name (one that was unpronounceable by humans). He could remember his younger years living in the slums here, having never seen his home-world or the seven moons it apparently had. Instead he had grown up under an alien sky that had an alien sun, forced to live in a small-sized shanty that no human would want to call home. The life he had here in District 9 was the only one he knew and thus anything better was but a mere dream. It seemed wild to think about living in some big estate or high-rise apartment, even though many of these types of dwellings were rather easy to come by in the human city known as Johannesburg.

He had grown up around the violence that marred the streets of District 9. He had watched prawns like him, both old and young get cut down by human weapons fire. He could vividly remember their last dying convulsions as they bled to death out on the streets, victims of circumstance and little else. The Nigerian gangsters seemed to enjoy killing his kind, even when there was really no reason for them to do so.

He had seen his own father fall victim to the substance that seemed to have so many more of his kind roaming around in a rather "high" state of mind. The humans called it "cat food" and the "cats" in question where small furry animals that the humans seemed to like keeping as pets. All Vincent knew about cat food was that it had the power to send a prawn like him on a sort of cat food induced "trip": some prawns would simply go crazy while others would be reduced to stupid drooling morons who would sit in the one spot for days on end, seemingly subjected to hallucination after hallucination.

Vincent had seen his father get gunned down by MNU mercenaries during the mass eviction operation that had happened back in 2010. His father had been in some sort of cat food induced rage, lashing out at the heavily armed mercenaries when the scrawny human official with the clipboard had given his father the eviction notice. The mercenaries had simply mowed Vincent's father down, leaving his body to the elements while it lay just outside his home. It had been then that Vincent had decided to get involved in the rebel movements and for about a year and a half he had been helping shift equipment from here to District 10. Getting to District 10 was fairly difficult since it was two hundred miles into the countryside but even so Vincent had successfully moved much equipment there. He had slept in the day and travelled by night, using stolen vehicles to deliver weapons and supplies to the rebels that operated out of District 10. He had made this trip many times and knew that he was helping in the effort to free his people. It made him feel good about himself when he thought of it like this.

However, there was one thing he hadn't been expecting to crop up in his life. There was this human activist, one who seemed to genuinely care about the plight of the prawns in District 9. She often made trips here, at least once a week. She had been doing so for the past year and had managed to strike up a friendship with Vincent. He was the community leader after all and she would often talk to him about things, delivering much needed food supplies and water supplies into the part of the district that Vincent seemed to have control over. She had finally been able to convince him that getting involved with the rebels was not a good idea. She had also convinced him that he should learn how to read, something that Vincent had reluctantly taken up during the last six months. He was making good progress and had even started to slowly work his way through the thick book that the activist had given him. She said it was called the 'Bible' and was apparently a very popular read amongst the humans. Vincent was having little difficulty in getting through it since he had managed to pick up the basics of the written English language fairly quickly. It was probably something all members of his species had but hardly any tapped into. She had told him that with the power of literacy Vincent would be able to make a considerable difference in the standard of living he and the other prawns endured. He was yet to see this happen since for as long as he had started reading life in District 9 had not changed.

The activist's name was Linda Cooper, a twenty-one year old human woman who lived in Johannesburg. She had always been persuasive in the way she talked having managed to convince Vincent to do all sorts of things he normally would never have considered doing. He could read now thanks to her and her constant encouragement. She had told him to take up writing, saying that this would allow him to express himself in a way that may make a difference. Vincent had never really taken up this 'writing' thing although he had tried, especially whenever Linda was around.

Still, life in these slums was difficult. Often Vincent simply felt like packing it in, especially with the pressure that was set upon him from his position as community leader. Those prawns that looked up to him were either bordering on starvation, completely crazy from eating too much cat food or were getting shot by Nigerian gangsters and prawn hunters for no reason. He had since grown accustomed to watching fellow prawns get gunned down out in the streets completely randomly. He was used to seeing the Nigerians cart off the bodies so they could be prepared to be eaten. He knew what went on in the Nigerian gang nests, how they cut up, cooked and ate his own kind as part of some feast. They believed they could gain the ability to wield prawn weaponry if they ate members of his kind but this was yet to be proven.

Lately Vincent had been especially miserable. He had been eating better than usual in the last week but this was primarily because of the recent taste in cat food he had developed. He had vowed long ago that he wouldn't ever have any but this vow had been tossed aside when that feeling of hunger had become too much. Now he sat fiddling with an aluminium can of the stuff, still trying to work out why the cartoon cat on the label was smiling broadly. What was there to smile about? He couldn't even smile himself, let alone find anything to smile about.

He had realized some time ago that he was simply too human. He had grown up subjected to the will of the humans and their oppressive nature, how they exploited his race for the weapons and technology it provided. He had been given a human name and was wearing human clothes, yet he did not have the same rights the humans had. He was living in constant fear of being killed and eaten by the Nigerians or dying of hunger or dying from illness. And yet he still remained here in District 9, eking out whatever life he could. The only thing he could look forward to were the weekly visits from Linda and even then he wasn't sure they were worth it. She was nice and everything but…well, he was just too depressed to really care about anything anymore. What good was he in a world like this? It wasn't even his own planet…Yet he had been born here so it would be sensible to say that this planet, this 'Earth' was his home-world.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity Vincent finally managed to rip open the top of the can. Immediately he tossed aside the torn away top and dug into the can's gooey contents with the fingers of his left hand, shovelling the casserole-style cat food into his mouth with reckless abandon. Chunks fell from his face and onto his tattered leather jacket while a few dribbles of gravy trickled down his chest. He ignored the stray bits as he briefly chewed but mostly swallowed the cat food that found its way into his mouth. The cat food was stone cold and didn't really taste like anything, having been tuned for cat taste buds rather than prawn taste buds. He finished the can off within a minute, using one sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the residue that had gathered at his mouth. He immediately went for another but remembered that he had officially run out of cans.

That sudden angry feeling of withdrawal overcame him and he threw the empty can with considerable force, sending it flying across the junk covered paddock before it disappeared amongst the long grass some distance away. He sat still for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as he tried to work out what to do next.

It wasn't long before he had managed to clear his head, waiting for the soothing effects of the cat food to kick in. It would be a while before he would become "high" so until then he could use the time to think. Thinking was really all he had been doing in the past few months, left to do little else. Those that he thought he was leader of didn't seem to pay him much attention anymore, as if they realized that he was a mere nobody just like they were. He might have had the natural leader ability but it wasn't any use to him when he was stuck living in a slum where there was barely any food. Chances are he would meet a fate similar to the others he had seen die, whether it be by getting shot, dying from some illness or simply from starvation.

He reached into one of the pockets in his tattered leather jacket, finding the wad of dirtied human paper money he had stumbled upon some weeks ago. He often scavenged in the areas near the Nigerian gang nests since some small amounts of discarded food could often be found there. As well it seemed that they threw out all sorts of assorted junk. Vincent had stumbled across a sizeable wad of cash hidden under some cardboard boxes, probably left by some Nigerian gangster who was worried that it might get stolen if he put it anywhere else. Whatever the reason why it was there Vincent had been sure to take it, adding it to the amounts of cash that Linda had given him in the past. She had told him that he could use it to buy things off of the Nigerians as long as it wasn't cat food. Still, he decided that since she wasn't here he would use it to buy cat food.

He slowly rose to his feet, taking a look around as that soothing mind-numbing effect that the cat food provided set in. He suddenly felt at ease with himself, that brief instance of intense anger having subsided into sheer bliss. If he could smile he would have, even if somewhere in his hazy mind there was a voice telling him that he was a nobody who would amount to nothing. He should just find some sort of firearm and use it on himself. He was no good to anybody…

Maybe it was the cat food that was keeping him from doing such a drastic thing. As much as his life sucked he preferred to remain breathing. There was a chance that maybe he might be able to make a difference. If not he certainly wasn't going to off himself until he had finished reading the lengthy tome that the humans called the 'Bible'.

At this time of the morning the Nigerians would already be in operation, hawking their seemingly never-ending supplies of cat food to any prawns stupid enough to want some. Vincent was one of those prawns and without hesitation he started on his way out of the paddock, stepping over a fallen wire fence and into the slums of District 9 itself.

He knew his way around here extremely well. He had grown up in this place and knew all of the best hiding places. These places had certainly helped keep him alive during his younger years, when shootouts erupted for whatever reason and chaos reigned all around. Even now, being fully grown and far stronger than a single human he had need of hiding. He had no guns to defend himself with since he knew that having one would simply make him a more viable target. He simply hid away in the shack he called home whenever trouble started and he remained watching through the windows while hoping that it would pass him by.

Vincent started into the streets that ran between the blocks of shanties and scrap heaps. He passed by a pair of prawns that were busy rifling through assorted trash, tossing aside anything that wasn't edible. They stopped to watch him walk past, recognizing him as the leader that they had appointed. Vincent didn't bother to look at the two pathetic and starved creatures, instead, keeping his gaze focused ahead of him as he tried to keep his mind concentrated on the task he had set himself to carry out.

He passed by a bullet-riddled and graffiti-covered stone wall. One lengthy spot of graffiti made him stop for a moment to read it. He had always thought that these colourful splotches had been weird human artwork but now that he knew how to read he found that they had been far more than just colourful splotches.

"_Never, never and never again shall this beautiful land face oppression of one by another."_

Vincent turned away from the wall and kept walking. Whatever human had spray painted that message on the wall certainly had a good idea of irony.

One of the Nigerian gang nests was already brimming with activity as Vincent approached. A group of about four dark-skinned human men stood outside of a large set of shanties and shelters. Two were armed with automatic rifles while the other two were busy preparing breakfast, cutting up strips of bacon and breaking eggs onto the pan that was being heated on the outdoor stove that the group had set up. A radio nearby was blaring some loud, raucous and near incomprehensible human "hip hop" music while the group of four Nigerians talked cheerfully in their native language.

Vincent knew how to deal with these Nigerian types. It was best to play along with everything they said and give them what they wanted. He would have to keep alert as well since there would be nothing stopping them from simply shooting him and adding him to their breakfast menu. Vincent started towards the group of Nigerian gangsters, noticing that upon seeing him the conversation they were having ended suddenly.

The one cutting the bacon was the one to speak first as Vincent stopped a short distance away. He was a short man who seemed to never stop smiling, giving Vincent an odd look as he approached.

"What have we here?" The breakfast cook asked, bearing his startlingly white teeth as he smiled.

Vincent knew better than to let the Nigerians intimidate him. Instead, he showed them the wad of money and decided to get straight to why he was here. He was already feeling a bit light-headed and a tad ill, probably from the cat food. There was that urge to have more and it was bordering on overpowering…

"What do you want?" The Nigerian cook asked. He seemed to take in Vincent's form with a cruel examining gaze, noticing the few items of human clothing that the prawn was wearing.

"This one likes to dress up," one of the other Nigerians commented. This one had un-slung his rifle from around his shoulder, levelling it towards Vincent as a sort of cautionary measure.

"Why you dressed up for, huh? Going out or something, taking your girlfriend on a date?" The Nigerian cook laughed as he finished saying this and his buddies joined in.

Vincent shifted uneasily where he stood. The wad of money was still quite visible and it was now that the Nigerian cook noticed it, his gaze changing slightly but he still kept on that smile.

"I want some cat food," Vincent said bluntly. He spoke in his native tongue, clicking and chirping in a way that ensured that the Nigerians would at the very least get the gist of what he was saying.

"You want some cat food, huh? Why, aren't you the one we sold a bunch of cans to yesterday?" The Nigerian cook's voice took on a mocking tone. "You finished them already, you ugly shit?"

Vincent set the wad of cash on the table near where the cook had been cutting up the strips of bacon. It was obvious the Nigerians wanted the money, they were simply being intimidating in order to scam the prawn into striking a dodgy deal. Vincent wasn't about to fall for it that easily.

"How many can I get?" Vincent tapped the wad of cash impatiently, shifting where he stood again. He could see that this wouldn't be easy.

"How many?" The cook laughed loudly. "Two, maybe three…"

"No…" Vincent shook his head and this seemed to surprise the Nigerians. The cook's smile faltered briefly but otherwise it remained where it was.

"At least ten," Vincent demanded. He knew that the amount of money he had offered was worth at least twenty but too big a demand and these Nigerians would simply shoot him on the spot.

"Ten?" The cook shook his head. "Sorry, ugly, we're all out of cat food…"

"No, you're not," Vincent said. He couldn't help but lean forwards, his gaze meeting with the cook's. He could see the fear in the Nigerian cook's eyes: there was nothing stopping Vincent from grabbing this human and simply tearing out his throat.

The two Nigerians with the rifles took a step forward and pointed their weapons firmly in the prawn's direction. Vincent took a step back, making sure to take up the wad of cash with him. His head throbbed painfully and the sun…it seemed so hot all of a sudden. He had to squint in the glare as he surveyed the group of Nigerians while struggling to think of another way to approach this. He needed that cat food, at least one can…It was imperative that he get it. Part of him was saying that he would die without it but the rational part of his mind was telling him otherwise. In all he had no idea on what to do.

It was then that he heard the sound of the engine. He turned around to face where it was coming from and watched as the familiar blue sedan pulled to a halt nearby, its paintwork shining in the ever increasing morning light. The Nigerians seemed a little surprised by the sudden arrival but didn't do anything, preferring to stand back and watch as the driver's side door opened.

Vincent immediately felt a wave of guilt rush through him. It was Linda and she was dressed in her usual outfit of blue jeans and a grey top. She must have only been twenty-five with light brown hair that was tied back in a neat ponytail as well as hazel eyes. She seemed to have a worried look on her face as she approached Vincent, looking at him and the Nigerians in turn.

"Vincent? What are you doing out here?" She asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Who's this pretty lady?" The Nigerian cook asked, smiling broadly again. "Is she your girlfriend, you stupid prawn?"

Vincent ignored the Nigerian and turned to face Linda. Sure, she had told him he could purchase things off of the Nigerians…as long as it wasn't cat food, the most addictive substance available to prawns like him.

"What's going on?" Linda stopped, raising an eyebrow. Vincent tried his best to not make eye contact since he knew he could get lost in those eyes for a very long time.

"I was just…" Vincent trailed off, looking at the ground. Damn, he felt stupid.

"Your ugly friend wanted some cat food," the Nigerian cook said, "and he—"

"Shut up," Linda snapped suddenly. The Nigerian cook fell silent while his friends simply chuckled.

Linda shifted her gaze back to the prawn that was standing before her. Vincent was considerably taller than her and so she had to look up to make eye contact. There was a serious look in those eyes of hers that made Vincent feel guiltier than he already did.

"Cat food?" Linda asked, her tone gentle, "Vincent, I told you, it's not good for you…"

"I know you told me!" Vincent exclaimed, unable to contain it any longer, "But I was hungry! I needed something to eat…"

Linda shook her head, moving her gaze from the guilt-ridden Vincent and towards the Nigerians. They were watching the exchange with sudden interest. Linda shifted her gaze back to the prawn and reached out and tugged on one arm.

"Come on, we'll go and talk about this somewhere else," Linda said carefully, "I don't like the idea of having these Nigerians standing nearby while we talk."

Vincent simply nodded. He couldn't think of anything else to do but to let Linda guide him back towards her car. She held one of his arms with a gentle but unfaltering grip.

"I brought some proper food, as I always do," Linda said as they walked, "We'll take it back to your shack so we can share it out with the others in your area, like we usually do. While we're there we'll talk about some things…Like why I'm worried about you, Vincent."

Vincent remained silent. He was busy taking in the whole of Linda's well contoured slender frame, aware of that feeling that maybe he liked what he saw. Then again his state of mind wasn't too clear and he was ridden with guilt for going against this human's wishes. For some reason Linda was probably the only human who could have that effect on him, as if there was some other underlying factor. Even so he didn't give it much thought, instead trying his best to fit in the back seat of Linda's car. Whatever he was feeling when it came to her would have to wait until after she had given him a good talking to.


	11. Sunrise over District 9 Part II

Within a block of dingy old metal shacks was Vincent Matheson's own dwelling. It was perhaps the largest of the shacks, consisting of two rooms while the others near it had only one. It was located in the neighbourhood that the nineteen-year old prawn had become a sort of leader of, home to many other members of his species. Most of the other prawns who lived here were either out scavenging for food or simply wandering the mostly derelict District 9 aimlessly.

On the outside Vincent's shack appeared as dirty and as ill-maintained as the rest of them. A rusted shopping trolley was parked outside, filled with old cardboard boxes and other assorted junk. It wheeled itself a short distance as a warm breeze billowed past the shacks, creaking loudly as it went. A stone wall was nearby, having once partitioned this area of the district. Currently it was covered with mostly nonsensical graffiti as well as riddled with several bullet holes.

Just outside the door of Vincent's shack had been where his father had been ruthlessly gunned down, having refused to sign the eviction notice when MNU had been evicting all of the prawns in order to have them moved to the more "comfortable" and out of the way District 10. Vincent had watched his father die in a hail of bullets as the MNU mercenaries simply opened fire when given the slightest provocation. His father had lashed out at one of them and this mercenary had fired somewhat accidentally, only for the others nearby to join in. It still hurt to think about it, even now when there was no trace left of the incident outside of the shack. MNU had carted off his father's bullet-ridden corpse, probably to be dissected in their experiments. Vincent had lived alone after that, claiming the shack as his own home while managing to avoid MNU's forces as they forced the majority of the alien population out of the district.

For almost three years Vincent had lived by himself, acting as a sort of leader for the small community of prawns that lived in the area. He had worked with the rebels on occasion and had otherwise done his best to eke out a living here in District 9. Thanks to the equal rights worker Linda Cooper he knew how to read and had borderline writing skills. Even though his life seemed to be improving he couldn't help but shake the feeling that he would never amount to anything. He was just a prawn after all and as far as he could tell most of the humans would have preferred that he stay out of their way.

His opinion of humans had never been too high until Linda had come along. Where all the other humans he had met had regarded him with revulsion or simply insulted him, Linda was actually kind and compassionate. He wasn't too sure what drove her to even try and help his kind but she certainly seemed different to most of the other humans Vincent had encountered. She had proved to him that not all humans were the same and that there were many willing to help out his race. She had convinced him to sever his ties with the rebel groups for his own safety. She had actually seemed genuinely concerned about his wellbeing, something that had surprised Vincent considerably. A human that actually cared? It had been a bit hard to fathom early on but now he knew that she was here to help and not to exploit or intimidate or kill him for that matter.

In return Vincent respected her and had grown a bit of a fondness for her. He didn't like to admit it but he knew that he liked her. He liked her as a friend but there was something else, something he wasn't too sure about. He was worried about what would happen if he did indeed admit his true feelings for the kindly human who visited him once a week. He always looked forward to her visits since they were the only thing to look forward to in his life in District 9. If he told her that he liked her more as a friend he was worried that she might be disgusted…He knew very well that most humans considered his race ugly and almost unsightly. Linda may be willing to help but there was no telling how she would react when Vincent admitted his feelings for her.

Vincent emerged from Linda's blue sedan after she had parked just outside of his shack. The door was still locked as he had left it prior to leaving earlier this morning, having headed out to view the sunset from his own personal lookout point. He was still feeling guilty about what had happened with the Nigerians and how he had been determined to get a hold of some cat food. It was the first sign of addiction, going to extreme lengths to get the substance one craved. He had gone through five cans of the stuff the day before and had eaten his last one for breakfast this morning.

Linda had specifically instructed him to stay off of the cat food because of the unpredictable effects it would have on his system. She had caught him trying to get more of it from the Nigerians and because of that Vincent regretted having even gotten started on eating cat food. He had a headache now and figured that it was one of the withdrawal symptoms that a lack of cat food would give him. He knew that all he had to do was resist any more temptations and instead concentrate on staying off of the stuff until the withdrawal period was over. He wasn't sure just how easy or difficult that would be.

Linda climbed out of the sedan and closed the door shut behind her. Vincent watched her make her way to the rear of the car, his gaze moving up and down her slender human frame. She didn't pay him much attention as she opened the trunk of her car in order to reveal the boxes of food and plastic jugs of water stored within. She looked up and towards Vincent once the trunk was open and Vincent quickly shifted his gaze so that it met hers.

"Could you help me unpack this stuff?" She asked, her usual gentle but strong tone clearly audible in her voice.

Vincent stepped over and helped her to unpack the supplies, all of which they laid out on the floor in the first room of Vincent's shack. The room itself took up the majority of the shack's interior, containing an old tattered couch that the prawn had salvaged from a scrap heap a number of years ago as well as an old wooden table that he had found on the same scrap heap. All manner of assorted trinkets and items were hung up on the walls and resting on the table, including a number of old radios (some of which actually worked) and several rusted hardware tools (hammers, hacksaws and so forth). Vincent had used some of his spare time to use these tools to construct some haphazard furniture including a set of drawers constructed of old pieces of wood he had found lying around a couple of years before. Construction work signs and road signs had been hung up on the corrugated iron walls, an effort made by Vincent in order to make his dwelling less bland and depressing. A dirty rug had been laid across the floor under the wooden table, one that might have originally sold for a fairly high price before being subjected to much wear and tear. A thirty inch analogue television set had been set on an empty plastic crate in the corner. The television itself was in working order but there was no electricity for it to power itself on. The power plug simply lay on the floor, a testament to Vincent's long-standing goal to actually gain access to electricity and thus watch some of those television broadcasts that the humans found so riveting.

In another corner was where Vincent had placed an old coat rack that he had found on a junk heap some time ago. This was where he had hung up the few changes of tattered human clothing that he had found and taken a liking to, even if he preferred to stick with his current outfit of a leather jacket and dark grey trousers that only reached his knees. He had started developing a collection of human books that he had been aiming to read, even though he was still currently (and slowly) working his way through the Bible that Linda had given him. Most of the others he had found himself while Linda had supplied him with a few more. The whole notion of people writing fictional stories for mere entertainment had at first intrigued him. He wasn't too sure whether the Bible was fiction or not, although Linda told him that a lot of humans firmly believed in what it taught.

A pile of newspapers lay near this increasing stack of books. Ever since he had gained a grasp of the written human language he had been trying his best to keep up with recent events. Linda had once again been the one to convince him to do this, otherwise Vincent would never have given it any thought. It seemed that the corporation, Multinational United (MNU) was fairly good at spreading lies about his species throughout the human population. As far as he could recall he _did_ have a grasp on the human notion of "owning property" and he did understand the basics of the human currency system. MNU had been spreading all sorts of lies about his race for years and only recently had Vincent had any idea that it was happening.

It was no wonder that others like him were taking up arms and attempting to bring the corporation down. It seemed futile to even try to fight such a powerful organization but still the rebel groups amongst the prawn population still tried. If his memory served correctly then there was someone in District 10, someone who had been gathering many followers. It was the first sign of true organization in these rebel groups since before this the attacks had simply been random and unnecessary.

Vincent set down the last of the supplies on the floor of his shack, still feeling guilty over what had happened earlier. He wouldn't be surprised if Linda gave him a thorough talking to about it. He knew that she was only trying to keep him safe but sometimes she could get a bit…intrusive.

A few points of sunlight were breaking into the relative darkness of the shack through small holes in the corrugated iron walls. It struck him that the interior was a little too dark so he stepped over to the other side of the room and pulled open the shutters on the small window he had built into the wall, allowing a whole array of sunshine to filter inside and brighten up the inside. He managed a brief look through the window, looking out across a small area of vacant land covered with long yellow-brown grass and numerous pieces of discarded junk. Up above an MNU helicopter buzzed overhead, keeping an eye on things down in the slums. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the occupants to open fire on any prawns that may be outside, although it seemed that the occupants of the helicopter did this more because they were bored than any other reason.

"I see you've rearranged the furniture since my last visit," Linda commented from behind.

Vincent turned around and saw her standing just near the wooden table in the centre of the room. She seemed to be frowning, surveying the room carefully. Vincent decided to try and strike up a conversation before she got started on the whole cat food thing. That way she might forget about it but this seemed unlikely. Linda had a good memory, this was something Vincent knew too well.

"Do you like it?" Vincent asked. He could talk in his native tongue as fast as he wanted to Linda since she always seemed to be able to understand him.

"Well…It certainly suits the uh…orientation of this shack a bit better," she replied, sounding a little uncertain. She looked towards him, running a hand through her light brown hair.

"I've been keeping up with the news, as you said I should," Vincent said, nodding towards the pile of newspapers nearby.

"That's good to hear," she replied, "Although some of what's written in those papers about your kind isn't very…you know, _flattering_…"

Vincent clicked, delivering the equivalent of a shrug. He picked the black covered Bible that he had been slowly reading through, thinking that now was as good a time as any to ask the questions he had concerning what he had read in it. He knew that Linda would listen carefully and answer his questions no matter how stupid they may have seemed. This was another reason why he liked her.

"Linda, there were a few things that have been on my mind ever since I started reading this," Vincent said. Linda raised an eyebrow, interested to hear whatever it was he wanted to say. Vincent immediately felt a bit more at ease, something which was always an effect of being around this compassionate human.

"Go on…"

"It's about this 'God' figure that keeps getting mentioned in the book," Vincent said, holding up the Bible in one hand so that she could see what he was referring to. "It says that he created your race and all the other creatures that inhabit your planet. It says that he created the universe in six days…"

"And you want to know whether it's true or not?" Linda asked, smiling.

Vincent shook his head.

"No, not that," he said. Linda frowned in response, not sure what he was getting at. Vincent continued, only a little fazed by her reaction.

"If he created your race, the humans, then does that mean he created mine? Does that mean he created us…'prawns'?"

The question seemed to hang in the air for a moment. Linda took her time in coming up with an answer, considering a number of other responses while Vincent looked at her expectantly. He could tell that the question had struck some uncertainty into the woman. Was it true that the one divine being had created everything? Religion was unfounded in Vincent's species and it occurred to him that he might be the very first prawn to have ever really believed in a sort of "higher power". He was nowhere near halfway through the lengthy volume but he was certain that if there was any meaning in his life it would be to spread the will of this "God" guy, perhaps even spread the teachings in the book to other prawns.

"For starters Vincent, you shouldn't refer to yourself as a 'prawn'," Linda said, delivering her answer succinctly and in a level tone, "It's the equivalent of calling a black person 'nigger' and that…well, it's not very flattering."  
Vincent simply nodded. He had never had a problem with being called a "prawn" by the humans he had encountered. Linda was perhaps the first to have opened his eyes up to the truth behind the term, implying that it was a harsh word that was often used in an insulting manner.

"And to answer your question…Well, I can't honestly answer it. I'm not in a position to. It's all up to you and what you believe in. Did God create your race? I personally wouldn't have any idea. It's all a matter of opinion and what you think…"

Vincent made the equivalent of a frown, perplexed at the response. Linda looked just as confused as he was until he realized that she was struggling to come up with a way to explain beliefs and faith to someone who had never known them until recently.

"Are you saying that it's what I think? That there's no real answer?" Vincent put the Bible back on the pile of other books near him and thought through what Linda had said carefully.

"What's the point of that?" Vincent asked, suddenly overcome with sheer annoyance, "Doesn't anybody know the truth? I thought you humans were supposed to know these things…"

"No one does," Linda replied, interrupting the prawn before he had a chance to get into a fully built ranting rage. Vincent fell silent at the sound of her voice, trying to stow the rebellious and annoyed thoughts that threatened to spill out verbally. He had been hoping for a distinctly clear answer, one that might have helped him decide on what to finally do with his life…and yet all he got was meaningless trivia.

"No one?" He frowned again. "How come?"

"It's impossible to determine how everything began," Linda continued, sensing Vincent's rising anger. It seemed logical to think that it was the withdrawal symptoms from the cat food he had most obviously been having lately.

"Besides, how did _you _think everything began before you started reading?" She followed up on her response with this question almost immediately, barely giving Vincent a chance to break in and interrupt her.

"I…I…" Vincent trailed off. He shook his head, trying to determine just what he had used to believe before he had started reading this 'Bible' tome. He realized that he had no answer to Linda's question. He had not believed in anything and he had never given the whole "how the universe was created" subject a moment's thought until now.

Now he knew that there must have been some sort of reason as to why he was here. Why was he alive? Was there some sort of higher power guiding him through his life or was he on his own?

"I don't know…" He finally replied. Linda simply shrugged herself, just as perplexed as he was.

"I think we should stop philosophizing," Linda said while forming a slight smile, "It's way too early in the morning for that kind of thing. Instead, what I could do with is something to eat…There's some cereal in one of these bags here…"

She started rifling through the supplies that the pair had brought into the shack, taking a quick look through some of the bags before finding what she was after. Vincent barely paid her much attention, instead pondering the many thoughts that were running through his mind. It occurred to him again that maybe there was no reason for him to live anymore, even though the rational part of his mind was dictating otherwise. An inner voice told him that he had some greater purpose and that these depressing thoughts of suicide weren't going to help him at all.

"Are you hungry?" Linda asked, now holding a brand new box of cereal in one hand, "or did you already eat?" She delivered this last question with some noticeable annoyance and it didn't take much for Vincent to realize what she was referring to.

"The cat food?" He shook his head, suddenly feeling guilty again. "I'm sorry…I was hungry. I hadn't eaten for days…"

"That's because you go through what I deliver way too quickly," Linda said, taking a plastic bowl out of one of the other bags. She tore open the box of cereal and then the bag within before pouring a sizeable sharing of corn flakes into the bowl. She put the box and the bowl on the table as she started searching for the milk she knew she had brought along as well.

"And is there any specific order in which I should eat what you deliver?" Vincent asked. He knew what Linda was referring to but when he was faced with actual proper food it was near impossible to not get carried away. He often finished what she delivered within a couple of days which was fairly quickly even with his standard share of the supplies. The other prawns in the neighbourhood seemed to suffer from the same problem.

Linda frowned when he heard his question and then shrugged.

"You should try and conserve what I give you," she said, "I can't really bring much in that car of mind and I don't exactly have access to any really big trucks…"

"Maybe you should get one?"

Despite the fact that Vincent had intended for this question to be quite serious Linda simply chuckled. It was the sort of laugh that made him feel warm inside, once again reminding him why he liked her so much. Sure, she could get intrusive sometimes but she certainly had many good qualities that outweighed her very few not-so good ones.

"Uh…I'm afraid I can't," she answered after she finished her brief bout of laughter, "I already get in enough trouble coming here."

"You do?"

"Sure I do," Linda said, "all the other people I work with prefer to concentrate on the nonhumans in District 10. I, on the other hand, know that the ones that need the most help are the ones here in District 9, like you. You guys don't even have access to clean water and you're constantly at risk of getting killed."

Vincent simply nodded. This was true enough, he knew that. It occurred to him that maybe Linda was one of the more outspoken activists, hence the reason she was always visiting District 9 alone. She was certainly putting herself at great risk by coming here since any of the Nigerians might decide to get rid of her…or capture her for their own purposes. And then there were the angry human-hating prawns that were common around here and who would happily tear her limb from limb. Vincent was determined to not let this happen.

"And I know that you're seen as a sort of leader around here," Linda continued, "Probably because of the fact that you seem more intelligent than the others…You do know that you have a distinct edge over the other nonhumans here, don't you?"

Vincent just nodded. He had always known that he had been smarter than most of the other prawns for most of his life. He had barely given this fact much thought but now that Linda was mentioning it…maybe he was gifted. Maybe he was a natural leader to his people.

"That's why I come to you, Vincent," Linda said, "You're talented. You have the power to help make a difference…"

"You've already told me this," Vincent said, "and I am yet to see any difference get made. In fact, I'm beginning to lose faith in changing anything…"

Linda shook her head and Vincent fell silent. She seemed concerned all of a sudden, as if she didn't think very highly of Vincent talking himself down like that.

"Never lose faith, Vincent," she said simply.

Vincent nodded. Before he could reply in regards to this Sarah had changed the subject and all Vincent could do was go along with the change. He didn't feel that he was in much of a position to guide this conversation anyway, being guilt-ridden and all.

"I told you to stay off of the cat food," Linda said, her voice taking on a slightly more serious tone, "In fact, I've told you more than once…"

"And I told you I was hungry," Vincent argued.

Linda seemed to think about this carefully, as if whatever was on her mind was a bit too hard to deliver verbally.

"It'll ruin you," she said, "and I wouldn't want to see you like some of the others are, roaming around vandalising things and causing general trouble. Cat food induced rampages aren't uncommon and that's why so many of your kind end up getting killed. If there's one thing I don't want to see, it's you lying dead outside in a pool of your own blood…"

Vincent rubbed his head as it throbbed dully. It was really beginning to hurt now, probably as a side effect from the sudden lack of cat food in his system. He shook his head but this did little to help the growing pain subside. He suddenly had the near overwhelming urge for some cat food but he managed to keep this urge at bay, if only because he didn't want to appear dependent on it in front of Linda.

"Just…really, Vincent, don't touch that stuff," Linda said, sounding a little uncertain. "I didn't give you money to buy cat food off of the Nigerians. That money's for other things you might need, like actual proper food. I know it's hard going without eating for days on end but you have to understand, the only thing that the cat food will do to you is ruin you."

Vincent remained silent. He felt too guilty to really say anything.

"I'm just worried about you," Linda said. Vincent saw something in those brown eyes of hers that he hadn't noticed before, something more than the bright compassionate light that was always there. There seemed to be more than genuine concern in those eyes and in her voice and Vincent could only shift uneasily where he stood, rubbing his aching head.

"That's why I don't want you getting started on the cat food and that's why I don't want you to have anything to do with the rebels," Linda said. She cleared her throat, remembering that she was meant to be looking for milk. She found a bottle of it in one of the bags of supplies that she had brought in from her car earlier and carefully unscrewed the lid, pouring an appropriate amount into the bowl with her cereal.

"I don't have anything to do with the rebels anymore…" Vincent said.

"And that's the way I want it to stay," she interrupted, removing a plastic spoon from one of the bags. She picked up the bowl and began to eat but even Vincent could see that she didn't feel like it anymore. In fact it seemed that there was something else on her mind, something that weighed on her conscience considerably.

"I tried my hand at writing the other day," Vincent said. Linda looked up, interested again.

"And?"

"And I sort of have trouble handling the pens you gave me. They weren't made for prawn hands." Vincent finished, shaking his head. Damn, it was really beginning to hurt again.

Linda laughed again. She ended up dropping the bowl of cereal much to her surprise and its contents splashed all over the rug on the floor below. Vincent watched with some amusement while Linda immediately gave a look of embarrassment, taking a step back from the puddle of milk and soggy corn flakes that were in it.

"Oh shit…I'm so sorry…" Linda sounded genuinely sorry about it but Vincent only shrugged in response.

"It's nothing. I'll clean it up, you just get on with giving out the supplies," Vincent said reassuringly. He found a roll of paper towels in one of the bags and stepped forwards, preparing to bend down and begin wiping up the mess Linda had made. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see that Linda was the one stopping him.

Vincent's head still hurt a fair bit and he was somewhat grateful for the interruption. He tossed aside the roll of paper towels, thinking that he should just lie down somewhere and rest. He really was having trouble thinking straight with this headache and couldn't really be bothered cleaning up the puddle on the carpet.

"You don't look so good…" Linda commented.

"How can you tell?"

This question got a smile from her. Vincent couldn't work out why she was still here. He was sort of wishing that she would leave since that would leave him alone and thus allow him to get a much needed rest. Hopefully the headache would be gone by the time he got up.

"Your eyes…They're not as bright as they usually are," Linda replied.

"They aren't?"

She shook her head.

Vincent figured that this was just another withdrawal symptom from the lack of cat food. However, he was quite certain that Linda was stalling. Why? He wasn't too sure.

Their eyes met and for a moment Vincent found himself lost in those striking brown eyes of hers. The pain in his head subsided only briefly, allowing him to reach the conclusion that he had been both excited and nervous about all of this time. Without hesitation he put one of his hands to the human's face and her smoothened, well curved features gently. She didn't back away in revulsion as he had been expecting. Rather, she let him touch her. Their gazes remained fixed on one another's and the fingers of Vincent's right hand brushed aside a few loose strands of her hair that were dangling over her eyes.

What time was it? Vincent's mind pondered absently on some of the more trivial things. Was that puddle of milk still on the floor? Did he smell bad? He hadn't washed himself for a fair while simply because the resources to do so weren't around here. If he smelt bad Linda didn't seem to care or notice. What about the supplies? Shouldn't they be handing them out to the other prawns by now?

The supplies could wait, part of Vincent's mind told him. Everything could wait. All that mattered was the young human woman standing in front of him. In fact, that rest he had been thinking of taking could wait as well.

* * *

**A/N:** Ah yes, the interspecies relationship. I enjoy writing that sort of thing in, primarily "just for kicks"" as I like to say.


	12. Departure

**Departure  
**MNU Headquarters, Johannesburg  
June 11th, 2013  
0830 Hours

Within the underground parking garage that took up most of the headquarters building's first sublevel, much activity was brewing. MNU mercenaries were kitting themselves out with weapons and equipment while support personnel were loading themselves into the few armoured personnel carriers that were parked in the garage. It was safe to say a large operation was starting up, one that would disembarking for District 9. It was standard practice to load up on assault rifles and Kevlar vests, even if trouble wasn't expected. When it came to District 9 trouble _was_ to be expected, especially because of the presence of the Nigerians and many disgruntled prawns.

The garage door at the end of the mostly grey concrete expanse underneath the headquarters building had opened, allowing a steady stream of sunlight to flow in. A few racks of weapons and equipment had been wheeled out for the members of the disembarking force to access. So far most of the two dozen mercenaries had taken a rifle and sidearm each before slipping on a Kevlar vest (all of the vests had 'MNU' stamped on the back in white letters).

Lukas Farber had been made to wake up rather early this morning. He was still reeling from the early wake up and was yawning more than he normally did, occasionally rubbing his eyes and shaking his head as he tried to get "with it". In fact he was feeling rather out of it this morning, perhaps a side effect from the events of the day before. Not only had he been dragged into this new specialist group but he had been forced to endure the egos of some of the others in it. Sure, Samuel Marshall and Will Slater were both likeable guys but some of the others, especially the mercenaries were completely egotistic and damned unlikeable.

This morning they would be all embarking on a trip into District 9 in order to track down possible leads on the well organized terrorist groups some of the more intelligent prawns had set up. And with District 9 came potential dangers, such as attack from Nigerian gangsters or angry aliens. Lukas was only a bit nervous about the whole thing but even so he had managed to drag himself down here to get his name marked off. Now he was in the process of fitting himself with one of the Kevlar vests and was having some difficulty.

Over by one of the parked personnel carriers was Colonel Francis Keller, the American ex-Green Beret who seemed to have been brought into South Africa just to run this whole team. He was barking orders at some of the mercenaries, telling them to hurry up and load themselves into their assigned armoured personnel carriers. He seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling broadly as he puffed on a thick Cuban cigar.

The atmosphere was a bit frantic, especially with so many people racing around trying to organize themselves. Lukas finally managed to clip on the Kevlar vest he had been ordered to put on, feeling its weight on his torso and how it seemed to impair his overall movements. Underneath he wore the standard dark blue uniform of an MNU field engineer, the type that didn't seem too comfortable on him. He just wasn't used to the feel of it, nor was he used to seeing so many heavily armed mercenaries milling about and climbing into the white MNU armoured personnel carriers.

There was a white van parked nearby which was filled with banks of computers, all of which were manned by the more technologically gifted of the team. They had access to satellite imagery and surveillance camera footage which they could bring up at will on one of the computer screens. They would be an invaluable asset in an operation such as this, able to use these technological resources to determine where danger was and guide the rest of the team appropriately.

Samuel Marshall was standing nearby, a Vektor CR21 rifle slung around one shoulder while he fiddled with the tightening straps on his Kevlar vest. He didn't seem at all bothered with it or what was happening around him. Instead he kept a level gaze as he checked the magazine loaded into his rifle, making sure that it was full before clicking it back into place.

Will Slater stepped over outfitted in much the same way as Samuel was, wearing a black Kevlar vest and dark combat fatigues underneath. He was still eating his breakfast, one buttered muffin clutched in one hand that he was taking the occasional bite out of. He seemed to be eating it in a perfectly counter-clockwise direction, working his way from the outside and towards the centre. This was just another one of his odd tendencies, the type that anyone else would probably tease him about.

Last night Lukas had arrived home later than usual and had told his wife about this whole new "specialist team" thing, the Anti Alien Terrorism Squad as it was called. She had been supportive of him as always, even when Lukas had voiced his uncertainties about the whole thing. The increased pay and more interesting work was probably what kept him on the team, otherwise he would have left it already. There was just something about it all that didn't quite add up, especially when it came to Colonel Keller. There was something about that man Lukas didn't like and the feeling seemed to be mutual, evident in the way Keller looked at him. Still, neither man said anything aloud.

Unlike some of the other non-mercenaries who had been placed on this team, Lukas was one of the few who would be in the thick of it. Where others like Theodore Van Wyk (the prawn expert) would be helping to run things from the safety of an office somewhere in the headquarters building, Lukas Farber would be working with the mercenaries right on the frontlines. He had been officially promoted to the not-so prestigious title of "field engineer" which in other words meant that he would be working as an engineer…out in the field with the mercenaries. It seemed a bit daunting but Lukas was sure there would be nothing to it. All he had to do was do as he was told, thinking that when (and if) they found alien technology he would be the one assigned to look after it.

The plan that Keller had detailed when they had first arrived sounded simple enough. MNU had reason to believe that there were terrorist cells within operation in the slums of District 9, perhaps even those responsible for a recent attack on an MNU convoy. This convoy had been carrying some important equipment and this was probably why it had been attacked. The prawn insurgents could use this equipment to make further attacks on MNU assets and the general human population, hence why it was imperative that the new anti terrorism team recover it before the prawns could do anything with it.

According to Keller there were a number of leads to check out in District 9, all of them potentially dangerous hence the need for weaponry. Lukas would be going with Keller and several of the mercenaries to one part of the district while the other mercenaries and support personnel would head off to check out other leads. It wasn't too big an operation and decidedly more subtle than previous outings that MNU had organized but Keller had stressed to them the importance of it. If they found the culprits of the convoy attack they would save many innocent human lives, lives that would be taken if the prawns who had attacked weren't brought to justice. Lukas had a feeling that the "justice" Keller was referring to meant killing the prawns responsible. No doubt Lukas' wife would disapprove.

Lukas didn't have need for any guns, he was an engineer after all. He wasn't trained in their usage nor was he actually permitted to wield a firearm. He wasn't too worried about being unarmed since he was surrounded by plenty of tough looking people who _were_ armed. It was their job to look out for his safety, otherwise they would probably get sacked if anything happened to him or any of the other unarmed support personnel.

Over near Keller were some of the other mercenaries that Lukas recognized. He didn't really like any of them, including Keller but he knew he would be working with them and thus would have to put up with whatever crap they gave him.

There was the unnerving young woman, Sarah Taylor her name was. She was climbing into the back of the armoured personnel carrier, twirling a shiny silver combat knife around in one hand. There was Kyle, the somewhat slow-minded mercenary who didn't say much who was getting yelled at by Keller. Hermes Kossel, the team's sniper was nowhere to be seen since he was probably outside somewhere, barding the helicopter that would carry him over District 9. A few other mercenaries Lukas didn't recognize were climbing into the armoured personnel carrier. Some of them were talking quietly amongst themselves, fiddling with their rifles and otherwise trying to get comfortable for the trip.

"You ever been to District 9 before, Lukas?" Samuel asked suddenly.

Lukas was caught off-guard by the question, having been heavily sorting through his own thoughts.

"No, no I haven't…"

"Didn't think so," Samuel said, shaking his head, "I was there when they were evicting the prawns back in 2010. It's not a nice place. There's always some sort of violence going on over there, the sort that doesn't get on the news. You know, whole massacres of prawns for no real reason. Interspecies prostitution. Arms dealing. All that shit."

Lukas simply nodded as he listened to what Samuel had to say. He had heard much about District 9 and how a lot of things happened there that weren't reported in the evening news, especially since all of the prawns in residence there were not protected by MNU laws. Without that protection people could do what they wanted to them hence why so many self-titled "prawn hunters" made regular visits, killing prawns for the mere fun of it.

Will had finished his muffin and had listened to what Samuel had said, frowning before he added his own contribution to the conversation.

"Interspecies prostitution?" He asked, frowning, "I've never heard of that one…"

Samuel shrugged.

"It happens," Samuel asked, "don't ask me why…or how…But it happens. It's just one of those things, the type you don't really hear much about."

"Yeah, well thanks for putting the picture in my mind," Will said, sounding annoyed, "Because it's sort of gross…"

Samuel was about to reply when Colonel Keller's voice broke into the conversation from somewhere close by. Samuel, Will and Lukas all turned to face the Colonel who had since managed to walk over and listen in without them hearing him. He was standing with a rather serious look on his face, the cigar he was smoking sticking out of the corner of his mouth. He regarded the three men before him in a rather condescending manner before speaking.

"Interspecies prostitution, you say?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Samuel simply nodded, put-off actually delivering a verbal response. Colonel Keller seemed to have that effect on some people.

"If I catch any human fucking a prawn I'll kill them both," he said bluntly, shaking his head, "it's the lowliest of lows, if you ask me. It sort of counts as uh…what's the word?" He paused, thinking. "Bestiality, that's it. It's goddamn bestiality."

There was an uneasy silence after that. Lukas could tell that the Colonel was dead serious when he said this, something that only unnerved the engineer. Colonel Keller didn't seem to notice the silence or the glances Will, Samuel and Lukas exchanged. Instead, he simply puffed again on his cigar and continued talking after a break of an appropriate.

"Come on you three," Keller said, nodding towards the nearby armoured personnel carrier (APC for short), "Quit standing around and get in. We've got work to do."

Lukas took a quick look around and saw that the other mercenaries, engineers and the few field researchers with them were either going into or already seated in their assigned vehicles. Sunlight streamed in through the open door further down the length of the underground car park, a somewhat natural contrast to the dry white glow of the lights in the car park's ceiling. Lukas could tell that Keller wasn't the patient type and so was about to start for the parked APC, only for a hand to fall onto his shoulder from behind.

Lukas turned around and was only moderately surprised to see that it was Keller who had gripped him. The Colonel gave him a careful examining gaze for a moment before speaking.

"Your name's Lukas, right?" He asked, his hand leaving Lukas' shoulder.

Lukas nodded. He wasn't sure what interest the Colonel had in him but whatever he wanted to say Lukas would have preferred it to be over quickly. He didn't like the way the Colonel was looking at him, there was something in the man's eyes that he didn't like.

"Yeah, that's right, you're one of our engineers," Keller continued, "and you're good at what you do. I hear you've handled alien technology before?"

By now both Will and Samuel had taken a seat in the rear section of the APC. Lukas and Keller were the only two left out in the car park.

"Yeah, I have…" Lukas was about to delve into slightly more detail before Keller interrupted him, apparently uninterested in anything the engineer had to say.

"That's why when we find any you'll be the one looking after it," Keller said, "and something tells me these prawn terrorists have plenty of alien tech in their possession. You shouldn't have to worry about getting into any firefights though…If trouble starts, you can hide behind me."

_That makes me feel so much better._ Lukas didn't reply, he simply nodded and managed a false but convincing smile. Keller smiled in return and cheerfully patted Lukas on the shoulder, doing this in a rather friendly manner that only made the engineer feel more uneasy. Lukas had never been a fan of some of the cold-blooded killers MNU hired into their mercenary force. There had been one guy he had bumped into on a few occasions, some Colonel by the name of Koobus Venter. Not only had that guy been an absolute sociopath but he seemed to have emanated an aura of sheer ruthlessness. Colonel Keller was only slightly different…Where Venter had been dead-set serious Keller was more open, being more of the smiling type.

"I have a feeling we're going to find some damn interesting things today," Keller said, smiling. He stepped past Lukas and climbed into the back of the APC, sitting down next to Sarah.

Lukas followed, trying his best to make himself comfortable in one corner of the cramped confines of the APC. Seated around him were typical MNU mercenaries, including Keller, Samuel, Will, Kyle and Sarah Taylor. Kyle was fiddling with the strap on his white Vektor CR21 rifle, flicking it around with his fingers while the rifle itself was laid across his lap. As Keller entered he flicked a switch and the APC's rear doors slammed shut behind them, shutting off the lights from the car park. There were a few small windows along the sides of the APC, each covered with a metal grating in order to keep out unwanted guests. These were what allowed a somewhat dry and subdued light to creep inside the APC and illuminate it, casting gaunt shadows across the faces of those seated inside.

Sarah was playing with that combat knife of hers, spinning it around in her right hand. As it spun the blade caught some of the light, glinting brightly as it moved. Lukas watched it carefully, finding that he was surrounded by people he didn't really like (save for Samuel and Will, the only two mercenaries who weren't stupid or ruthless). Lukas tried to think of just why he had even decided to play along with this whole "new specialist team" thing and was unable to come up with an answer. The money might have been good, the whole idea of fighting terrorism might have sounded more exciting than working in an office…but damn, he was surrounded by complete wackos.

"Let's get this piece of junk moving," Keller called out to the driver. The driver, seated past a grating at the front of the passenger cabin nodded in acknowledgement and started the APC's engine. It vibrated as the engine was put into first gear and the passengers were shaken around a little as the APC began to move.

Keller reached into one pocket, taking a quick glance out of one of the small windows as he did so. Out in the car park the convoy of MNU APCs was moving out, theirs being the first one to drive up the exit ramp and emerge onto the streets of Johannesburg. Sunlight streamed in through the windows as their APC came out into another sunny and rather warm day in this part of South Africa.

Lukas sat in silence as did most of the other mercenaries. He was thinking that the whole trip would be like this until Keller suddenly started speaking, unfolding a piece of paper he had removed from one of his pockets. From where Lukas was sitting he saw on the paper a mug-shot of what was most definitely a prawn, with its exoskeleton-like features, yellow feline-like eyes and short crustacean-like feelers that hung over its mouth. Its outer shell was darker than most other prawns Lukas had seen, being close to black rather than the ordinary brown colour.

Down the page was typed all sorts of information concerning this prawn and Keller skimmed through it thoughtfully, blowing occasionally on his cigar. He looked up at the people seated around him and then began to speak, ending the silence that was occurring within the APC.

"Alright, everybody listen here," he said and soon enough everyone was looking at him. Keller paused, making sure that everyone was listening. Outside the convoy had started down a busy Johannesburg street, passing some groups of equal rights protestors. Some of the protestors proceeded to throw things at the passing APCs, empty soda cans and the occasional brick clanging loudly off of the APCs armour.

"We've been lucky enough to get given the task of tracking down one prawn in particular," Keller said, holding up the sheet so that everyone could see the mug shot.

"This one's name is Vincent Matheson," Keller continued, "and he's apparently had a few things to do with insurgent groups. He's one of the better leads we have on the whereabouts of the equipment stolen from the convoy."

"Vincent?" Sarah was the one to say this, sounding somewhat incredulous. "Who gave him that name?"

"MNU did," Keller replied matter-of-factly. Sarah fell silent, returning to her previous activity of spinning the combat knife around in her right hand.

"The idea is to give these prawns human names as a form of what MNU likes to call 'cultural repression'," Keller explained, "This prawn's probably more human than most. He was born here, for one. He's currently out living in District 9 according to recently acquired information and he may have the answers we're looking for."

Lukas sat and listened to all of this. He wasn't surprised to hear the human name the prawn in question had been given. In fact he was familiar with MNU's scheme to give every prawn a human name in order to further repress whatever alien culture they had. The hope was that with human names the prawns would feel more like humans and may even feel somewhat welcome on this planet. They were less prone to causing trouble that way and would adapt better to human society. Most activists simply saw this as another sign of oppression against the prawns.

"We're also to keep an eye out for a missing mercenary," Keller said, reaching into a pocket in his trousers and removing a photograph which he handed around. Lukas saw that it was a picture of a fairly young looking guy with short hair, brown eyes and of an athletic looking build.

"The missing guy is Patrick McDougall," Keller said, "he's the only unaccounted casualty from the attack carried out on the MNU convoy last week. General consensus says he's been captured and if so we should find him and…well, we rescue him. I doubt the prawns will have much use keeping him captive and all. And we can't let them use him as a bargaining chip in any demands they might make."

Keller took back the photo and put it and the paper with Vincent's details on it back into his pockets. By now the convoy had gone onto a road heading towards Johannesburg's outskirts, going in the direction of District 9.

Lukas could only speculate as to why an MNU mercenary had been captured. As Keller had mentioned, perhaps the prawn insurgents would use Patrick McDougall as a hostage in order to make all sorts of demands? Lukas couldn't be sure nor did he care too much. His job was to help these mercenaries when it came to any alien technology they came across. He doubted they would have much use for him in anything else, hence why Lukas felt very out of place. He was surrounded by a bunch of gun-toting mercenaries while he himself was a mere engineer, used to working in an office and not out in the field like this.

Lukas felt oddly out of place sitting with these mercenaries but he decided he would just have to live with that feeling. None of the mercenaries seemed to be paying him much attention. Will was humming quietly to himself (Lukas didn't recognize the tune) while Samuel had removed an MP3 player from one pocket and was busy untangling the wires connecting the headphones to it.

Keller opened a pouch on his vest and took out a CD-R that was being kept in a slim case. He climbed out of his seat and carefully made his way to where the driver was, pushing open the grating separating the front cabin from the passenger cabin. He uttered a few words to the driver who in turn took the CD and removed it from the case, proceeding to slide it into the CD player on the dashboard. Keller returned to his seat moments before the music on the CD began to blare loudly throughout the inside of the APC. There were a few annoyed groans from some of the mercenaries but otherwise no one was game enough to complain about Keller's choice of music.

"_What everybody said about the bird…buh-buh-buh bird bird bird…bird is the word…well the bird bird bird the bird is the word…bird bird buh-buh bird is the word…"_

"I remember during Desert Storm we'd ride into a combat zone with this sort of thing playing," Keller said proudly, "It'd be blaring from speakers we had set up on our vehicles and it'd scare the shit out of any Iraqi soldier. Damn, those were good times." Keller laughed and a few of the mercenaries managed to half-heartedly chuckle in response.

"And now look at me: I'm a no good, dirty mother-fucking mercenary," he continued jokingly, "I never thought I'd end up a mercenary but when I did I wasn't surprised. Hell, I'm just like the rest of you: Selling out my services to the highest bidder, like some sort of…prostitute." He laughed again, puffing on his cigar and allowing a thin trail of smoke to waft on up to the ceiling of the passenger cabin.

"Where did you work before you came here?" Lukas asked. He hadn't been meaning to blurt out the question in such a blatant manner but it ended up that way. Keller seemed surprised to hear Lukas speak but wasn't at all fazed. The other mercenaries looked at Lukas and Keller, their gazes running back and forth.

Lukas was curious to hear about Keller's previous positions. There was something that didn't really add up about why Keller was here: apparently he had been flown all the way from wherever to South Africa just to run this new anti-terrorism unit. Why MNU wouldn't simply find someone more conveniently located seemed a little strange.

"I was in Venezuela," Keller replied coolly, "just doing your standard sort of security job."

"Venezuela?" Samuel interjected. "What's it like over in Venezuela?"

"Hot and humid," Keller answered immediately, "There ain't never a cool day in Venezuela. It's always hot and stinky. South Africa ain't all that different, although in Venezuela you can rely on people sticking to speaking either English or…uh…Venezuelan or whatever Latino language they speak over there. Here in South Africa you got people speaking English…Afrikaans…and…uh…a whole bunch of African languages. And then there's prawn. So many fucking languages, you know?" The Colonel shook his head, somewhat annoyed at the sheer amount of languages he was being forced to learn. "Prawn's damn annoying as well: I mean seriously, trying to understand a bunch of clicks and chirps is near impossible. That's why I'm relying on you guys to translate for me, especially when we find this Vincent guy…I mean, 'prawn'. We're going to have to ask him a few questions."

Lukas had fallen silent again, listening to the Colonel's rant as he thought about a few things. Keller had been flown all the way from Venezuela to South Africa just to run this new unit? Why would MNU even bother doing that? Then again, maybe Keller was just damn good at his job. He certainly seemed more competent than most of the mercenaries here. The last notable mercenary working in South Africa for MNU had been Koobus Venter and he was dead, torn to shreds by some angry prawns. That was definitely not a pleasant way to go.

"They speak Spanish in Venezuela," Will said.

"What?" Keller had missed this little fact and looked up, his train of thought broken.

"You said they speak Venezuelan in Venezuela…They don't. They speak Spanish, and probably Portuguese as well…"

Keller raised an eyebrow.

"Does it look like I give a shit?" He asked. Will simply shrugged in response.

"If there's one thing I hate it's know-it-alls like you," Keller said, shooting Will a mean-spirited glare, "I couldn't give two shits if they spoke fucking Swahili in Venezuela. That ain't the point I was trying to make. What I was saying was that at least over in Venezuela I don't need to have a grasp of a dozen fucking languages like I need to down here in South Africa. And to top it off the big bosses expect me to have a grasp of some language that ain't even of this fucking planet."

Sarah looked up, ceasing her spinning of her knife.

"There ain't much too much to speaking prawn," she said.

Keller frowned, obviously doubtful about this.

"Really, missy?" He asked, smiling. The word "missy" seemed to annoy Sarah but she didn't voice these complaints.

"You just have to listen carefully, make sure you hear the clicks and chirps right," she explained, "Some of their 'words' can have entirely different meanings depending on the context of the sentence…"

Lukas had just a good grasp of the prawn language as anyone else who had been living in South Africa for the past two decades. He could easily get the gist of anything a prawn said to him (not that many prawns had said much to him) and it seemed that the prawns could understand anything he said back to them in English. Neither race could actually speak the other's language, making for a very interesting language barrier.

"Jesus Christ, I'm surrounded by a bunch of fucking know-it-alls," Keller said, shaking his head, "I didn't come to this country just to be subjected to everyone else's advice. I came here to do my job and I intend on doing just that. If I can't understand a thing a prawn says to me, so what? I think I'll get by just fine…"

He paused, noticing that everyone else seated around him seemed to have fallen silent. They had taken the hint that maybe Keller wasn't all that easy to talk to, especially when he was in the sort of mood he was in now. They were headed out to a potentially dangerous place and he would need all his concentration trained on the job at hand.

"You know what I could do with right now?" Keller asked.

"What?" Lukas said absently.

"A burger. A big one, with cheese and lettuce and tomato…Hell, I want the whole fucking _lot_."

"Maybe we can stop by a burger place on the way back from District 9?" Samuel suggested.

"Isn't it a bit too early in the morning for that sort of food?" This was Kyle and he looked up from fiddling with the strap on his rifle, having been listening carefully to the conversation.

"It's never too early for a burger," Keller replied, "I haven't had a decent burger for months. It's surprising just how few burger places they have over in Venezuela, you know? Over there it's all South American cuisine, some of it the sort of thing I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. I was damn pleased when I saw all the fast food places here in Jo'burg while driving over to MNU headquarters yesterday…"

Lukas lost interest in the conversation at this point. Instead he simply sat and pondered his own thoughts, trying his best to put up with being surrounded by a bunch of morons. Will and Samuel were alright but the others…well, some certainly weren't the sharpest tools in the shed. Keller was certainly competent but there was still something about him that Lukas didn't like. Maybe it was the ruthlessness that Lukas detected under the façade of a talkative and cheerful ex-military man. Still, Lukas decided that he ought to stop worrying himself about all of this and simply go along with this whole mission and whole new team, or unit. It was bound to be an interesting ride.


	13. Flying High

**Flying High  
**District 9, Johannesburg  
June 11th, 2013  
0925 Hours

The sound of helicopter blades spinning was naturally quite loud, even inside the confines of the MNU helicopter. Hermes Kossel was seated near the opened side door, sniper rifle resting on his lap as the landscape went by below.

He had always enjoyed flying up high in a helicopter, safe from immediate harm while in a position to take action when necessary. This particular helicopter trip reminded him of the same sort of thing he had been ding during the eviction of the prawns from District 9 back in 2010. Well, now he was back and this time there were no real limits as to what he could do. None of the prawns that were living down in District 9 now had any real rights nor were they protected by common laws. They were illegal aliens and as such no one would care if a few of them were shot dead here and there. That sort of thing was happening practically every day in the district.

Seated near him was Frans Jochem, a thirty-seven year old mercenary with dark hair and blue eyes. He and Hermes were relatively good friends and had worked together on many previous operations. Frans had more or less been Hermes' "spotter" for these sniper operations, although this was just an excuse for Frans to ride in a helicopter and do nothing all day (and still get paid for it). Right now he was flicking through a small paperback novel titled _The War of the Worlds_ and seemed rather concentrated on reading through it.

Outside they were flying over the streets of Johannesburg, keeping up high and above the convoy of MNU vehicles that were heading out of the city on the roads below. Hermes had received his orders earlier that morning from Colonel Keller: he was to be their "eye in the sky", keeping watch from above as the separate squads went after their assigned objectives. All of these objectives were in fact prawns that may have been linked to insurgency groups and as such the squads would search and apprehend these prawns when found. Hermes had some doubts as to whether this would succeed or not, especially since most of these prawns looked the same save for the different shades of skin (ranging from light brown to black). How could they possibly be sure they had the right prawn?

This wasn't his problem though. Instead, he would simply enjoy this trip into District 9 by sitting back and doing next to nothing. He doubted the squads on the ground would need his help so the most he could do was sit back and relax. He realized then that he should have brought a book or something like it to read, especially since they would most probably be out in District 9 for a few hours.

Hermes watched as the streets and modern day architecture of Johannesburg thinned out the further they went. Soon enough they were flying high over barren paddocks and large blocks of shanties, some of which had been demolished in the intervening years since the mass eviction. There were plenty of abandoned bulldozers left lying around the demolished areas, hinting that the demolishing operation had met an abrupt and unforeseen end. From then on District 9 continued for a considerable distance, creating what many saw as a mere "blot on the landscape". It certainly looked like it from up here, the brown and grungy shanties forming a major contrast to the bright and shiny architecture of inner city Johannesburg. No wonder the majority of people wanted it removed from their sight.

Most would have thought that the "problem" of the prawns would have gone during the mass eviction. Nearly all of the prawns had been successfully transferred over to the more remote District 10, located out in the countryside somewhere and well out of the way of any human civilization. However, even an organization as big and efficient at its job such as MNU could miss some prawns…about fifty thousand of them, all of which were breeding steadily and thus this number had no doubt increased. The trouble with this was that nearly all of the prawns in District 9 were unregistered and thus no proper census to their numbers and state of welfare could be made. If it wasn't for the Nigerians and the activist groups District 9 would have been destroyed by now. Of course, MNU simply couldn't drop a few bombs on the place and inadvertently kill many prawns and people. That would be bad for business.

Hermes doubted the prawns in District 9 were living easy lives. They would have little access to food unless it was through the Nigerians and dealing with those guys was often dangerous to your health. It seemed that the Nigerians always had some sort of scam going, even on the Internet where their scamming had begun. To this day Hermes often received emails in his inbox claiming to be from the Bank of Nigeria, asking him for his account details so they could transfer over a few million US dollars into his account. It was all bullshit of course and Hermes simply deleted these emails whenever he checked his inbox and saw that he had received some.

Frans looked up from his reading and seemed to notice that Hermes was deep in his own thoughts as well as decidedly bored.

"You should have brought a book," Frans said, holding up his paperback novel, "otherwise you're going to be bored for most of this trip."

"Yeah, I know," Hermes said. He shrugged, reaching into a pocket in his black MNU issue trousers. It took him a moment to find his MP3 player and soon enough he had removed it, placing the earphones into his ears and finding a suitable track to play from the playlist. The volume was up to a fair extent, maybe enough to leave some ringing in his ears for a while afterwards. Then again, it was better than listening to the constant _chop-chop_ of the helicopter blades.

"_I pictured a rainbow…You held it in your hands…I had flashes…but you saw the plan…"_

"I can hear that," Frans commented.

"What?" Hermes looked up, finding that Frans' voice was barely audible. He lowered the volume on the MP3 player slightly, thinking that maybe it was up a bit too loud.

"_I wandered out in the world for years…While you just stayed in your room…I saw the crescent…You saw the WHOLE OF THE MOON…"_

"I said that I can hear that," Frans said, "and chances are that means it's too loud."

Hermes shrugged.

"So?"

"So, you'll go deaf if you use it enough," Frans explained, "and I'm sure you wouldn't want that…"

"Since when did you care so much about me?" Hermes asked, raising an eyebrow. Frans only shrugged in response, unable to come up with a formidable answer.

"I'm just saying…"

The conversation was interrupted when their radios crackled into life, Colonel Keller's static filled voice breaking through the speakers. He sounded his usual stern self, giving orders as was to be expected. There was something about Colonel Keller that Hermes didn't really like but then again there was little he could do about it. Complaining would only get him in trouble and Colonel Keller seemed the type of man who didn't take complaining lightly. In fact, it would be safe to think that Colonel Keller didn't take anything lightly.

"_Eye in the Sky, this is Colonel Keller. Do you read me, over?"_ Keller's voice crackled with some static but was otherwise rather clear.

"Eye in the Sky?" Frans raised an eyebrow. "Who came up with that name?"

Hermes shrugged before flicking the appropriate switch on his radio, delivering his response in as rigid a voice as he could muster. Down below the convoy of MNU vehicles had split up, each squad heading off to their assigned objectives.

"This is Eye in the Sky. We read you loud and clear, over." Hermes awaited the Colonel's imminent response, wondering just what he could be calling about.

"_Good, that's good…"_ Keller trailed off, sounding as if he had been distracted by something. There was the sound of a distant voice coming from somewhere near the Colonel. In response, the Colonel delivered a quick "shut up" to the origin of the voice.

"_Listen up, Eye in the Sky. We got multiple objectives to apprehend and the most dangerous is for my squad to go and secure. That's why I want you watching our backs as we head inside, is that understood?"_

Hermes realized that maybe he wouldn't be so bored after all. A potential dangerous objective meant there was a chance he would be able to shoot something.

"Understood," Hermes replied. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder but didn't need to explain where they were going since he had been listening in. The pilot gripped the throttle and guided the helicopter onto a course that left them hovering high over a block of shanties where the Colonel's MNU APC had come to a halt.

"_Under no circumstances are you to eliminate the suspect,"_ Keller said, _"sure, if he makes a run for it shoot him in the legs. But don't kill him. We need him alive…"_

Frans was the one to interrupt, chiming into the conversation with some uncertainty tinging his usually confident voice.

"And, uh, how are we supposed to know which prawn not to kill?" He asked, "They all look the same…"

There was a pause as the Colonel considered his answer. Hermes could tell that even Colonel Keller was having some trouble coming up with a plausible answer. The prawns did look all the same, after all. At least, the ones Hermes had seen hadn't looked much different from each other.

"_The one we're after is distinctly black in colour and probably likes to dress himself,"_ Keller replied after some thought into the matter, _"Chances are he'll try and make a run for it once he gets wind of our arrival. Make sure he doesn't get far…just don't kill him. I'm relying on some expert sharpshooting from you, Hermes."_

"Don't you worry Colonel," Hermes replied, unable to keep some of the pride he felt from getting into his voice, "I won't let you down…"

_"That makes me feel _so_ much better,"_ the Colonel replied, the sarcasm evident in his voice. Hermes ignored it, thinking that if he had to shoot he would do it properly. Any doubts the Colonel had to his abilities would be immediately removed and hopefully replaced with a respect. Hermes hadn't gotten this far in his career as a sniper by not being able to well…_snipe_. He could do his job and he could do it well, even if he said so himself.

"_I'm hoping we won't have to fire any shots,"_ the Colonel added, _"Because if we do that means we fucked up somewhere in our approach. And I do NOT like fuck ups. I'm sure you would agree, Hermes?"_

It took a moment for Hermes to realize that the Colonel was talking to him. He composed himself, his train of thought broken.

"Ah…yeah, I don't like fuck ups either," Hermes replied somewhat haphazardly.

"_Good to hear,"_ the Colonel replied. Hermes could imagine the smile that Colonel Keller must be making right now, complete in its unnerving traits.

Below nothing much seemed to be happening, although several prawns had emerged from shanties near the Colonel's parked APC. They were all obviously quite curious, watching from afar as the big vehicle remained still. Hermes watched as the rear doors opened and the mercenaries, along with Colonel Keller, stepped out. Keller seemed to briefly regard the nearby prawns, showing vague interest before speaking again into his radio.

"_Looks like we have company,"_ he commented.

"Target practice?" Hermes asked. The grip he had on his rifle which rested across his lap tightened appropriately.

"_So the whole damn neighbourhood can hear the gunfire?"_ Keller sounded annoyed. _"Seriously, what the fuck are you thinking Hermes? You'll ruin the operation before it even starts…"_

"I have a suppressor for my rifle, Colonel," Hermes replied, "That way no one hears the shots." He retrieved the muzzle suppressor in question from a pocket in his trousers. Frans, who was sitting across from him, watched with some interest as Hermes carefully attached the suppressor onto the end of his Tango-51 sniper rifle.

"_Well, I'm afraid that shooting prawns for no real reason is something we're not permitted to do,"_ Keller replied, _"But if they try anything suspicious you have permission to open fire. Just make sure you don't miss and hit any of us instead."_

Hermes felt a wave of disappointment but it didn't last long. He was sure something would happen to inject excitement into this otherwise routine trip.

"Why would you want to shoot prawns for?" Frans asked while frowning as he spoke, "Unless they were doing something to you I wouldn't bother."

Hermes could only frown in response. Frans seemed rather serious with what he was saying. Hermes had never thought that Frans actually cared about the prawns.

"What are you, Frans? Some sort of prawn sympathiser?" Hermes asked, giving his friend a rather mean glare.

Frans shook his head but was otherwise unfazed.

"I'm no sympathiser, although my girlfriend's in one of those activist groups. You know, equal rights for the prawns and all that bullshit. She's been telling me some things recently and some of it makes sense, believe it or not…"

"I don't," Hermes replied bluntly.

"Could you give me a chance to finish?" Frans asked. He didn't wait for Hermes to respond before continuing since he knew that Hermes probably wouldn't want him to finish.

"There are plenty of intelligent prawns out there, both here in District 9 and some in District 10," Frans said, "How do you think that Christopher one flew that ship out of here? He would have had the know-how to do it…"

Hermes shrugged. He really wasn't interested in any of this stuff about the prawns being intelligent and all. The prawns were animals, unwelcome here on Earth and in South Africa especially. Who cared whether they were intelligent or not? Hermes certainly didn't.

"And how do you think the prawn insurgents are getting so organized?" Frans asked, "You don't seriously think there are humans helping them, do you?"

"It's a possibility," Hermes replied absently, his gaze shifting down to his rifle. Outside, down on the ground Keller and his mercenary team were moving out. No doubt they would be where the prawn they were after lived.

"No activist group is going to supply them with weapons and the knowledge on how to run a terrorist organization," Frans continued. Even he sounded a little unsure to what he was saying, making it obvious that it had been his activist girlfriend that had forced all these ideas into his mind. It seemed that a lot of these activists could be very persuasive, probably part of the reason they had effectively made MNU out to be some sort of evil corporation. MNU's public image was suffering because of it. Hermes would be very upset if MNU in South Africa was closed down all because of a bunch of self-righteous activists. In fact, he would be decidedly angry.

"There's someone else helping these prawns get organized," Frans said, "I have even heard rumours that it could very well be some sort of conspiracy…Get the prawns organized so they can wreak havoc on MNU. But I'm pretty sure there's no activist groups involved. At least…"  
"Oh please, Frans, could you shut the fuck up?" Hermes delivered this in a blunt manner, shaking his head as what his friend said was quickly forgotten. Frans looked surprised at the reaction but quickly composed himself, figuring that maybe he had been getting a bit annoying.

"Who cares about the prawns? Who cares about conspiracies? You better tell that activist girlfriend of yours to stop feeding you all this bullshit, that way you won't feed it to me in return," Hermes said. He could see that he had effectively shut Frans up but he wanted to be sure and hit his point home.

"You're getting on my nerves, Frans," Hermes said, "maybe you should find a new girlfriend."

"Hey, there is nothing wrong with my girlfriend," Frans replied defensively, "Don't you go talking shit about her, alright?"

Hermes could tell that he had struck a sensitive chord in Frans. Then again Frans was always defensive about his girlfriends, even though he was the type of man who couldn't keep a relationship going for very long. He went through girlfriends like he did toilet paper or sliced bread.

"You're going on about conspiracies like that moron Will Slater," Hermes added, remembering the mercenary who seemed overly paranoid about everyone and everything. Will was always going on about conspiracy theories and how there were people out to get him. He was completely nuts in Hermes' opinion.

"Have you heard some of the stuff Will's said?" Hermes asked. Frans shook his head, allowing Hermes to continue. "He thinks the government puts stuff in the water to keep us all passive and stupid…He thinks there are reptilian aliens controlling the world's governments…and he thinks that there are people trying to poison what he eats."

"In other words, he's nuts?" Frans asked.

Hermes nodded.

"He's not only crazy but he's stupid," Hermes said, "I don't know how he ended up a mercenary. And you know what annoys me the most about him?"

"What?"

"That Samuel guy seems to be supporting him, agreeing with everything he says," Hermes said. He could see the two of them now, talking about some conspiracy related nonsense. Samuel would only agree with anything the mildly crazy Will said.

"So? They're friends. Big deal…"

"It _is_ a big deal," Hermes interrupted. He realized that he probably sounded awfully agitated by now but he kept talking, determined to take all of these troubling thoughts off of his mind.

"Samuel supports him and thus Will has an excuse to continue spouting this crap about aliens and governments plotting against us," Hermes continued, "and the last thing I want is for you to end up like him, spouting off bullshit about aliens controlling the world's governments and—"

"Seriously Hermes," Frans interjected, his tone level and his demeanour one of calm and collectedness, "you have to calm the fuck down. You're rambling on like one of those crazy guys who stand on street corners and prophesize about the end of the world. I'm beginning to think that you are crazy."

Hermes paused. It occurred to him then that maybe he had become a bit too flustered. He assumed it was just the stress of recent weeks, having to put up with being around the most moronic yet intimidating group of mercenaries he had ever encountered. Not only was Colonel Keller sort of odd but there was that crazy bitch Sarah Taylor. She had taken his personalized combat knife as her own the day before just prior to the first get together of the new Anti Alien Terrorism Squad.

"Sorry…It's just that things have been hectic lately, especially since yesterday," Hermes said, his tone far more calm and level than what it had been seconds earlier. He tried to quell that flustered annoyed feeling that had come over him, succeeding partially but otherwise it didn't go away.

"I just can't shake the feeling that there's something odd about this whole setup," Hermes said.

"Setup? What do you mean?"

"I mean this whole team in general," Hermes replied, deciding to finally speak the doubts he had about the whole new team. "And Colonel Keller especially."

"What about the Colonel?" Frans asked, "Sure, he seems like a bit of a hard-ass but really…what's wrong with him? I'd rather be working for him than to be against him."

"You're right about that," Hermes said, nodding in agreement (Keller seemed the type that no one would want to go against), "but I just can't shake the feeling that maybe he's hiding something."

"And you think Will's paranoid?" Frans laughed. "Seriously, you say that Will's nuts and yet you start going on about your paranoid delusions afterwards. That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

Hermes shot his friend an angry gaze, one that made Frans shrink back in his seat. Hermes was being dead serious about all of this and he really didn't need Frans to joke about it.

"I'm not paranoid, just suspicious," Hermes replied, "and they're two very different things."

"You sure about that?" Frans was smiling again.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Hermes said defensively, "look both words up in the fucking dictionary. They're different."

"I don't need a dictionary," Frans said, tapping two fingers to one side of his temple, "I have all the knowledge up here. I used to excel at English classes when I was at school and I was one damn good speller. Never got a word wrong, A-pluses on all my essays…"

"Well you're so fucking awesome, aren't you?" Hermes said mockingly. Frans did seem a bit too proud of himself when he said this and Hermes decided to quell that pride almost immediately.

"Yeah, I am," Frans replied, unfazed, "I was thinking of being a writer…"

"And instead you end up a no-good mercenary, like me,' Hermes said, "What do you think that's saying about you're overall success in life?"

Frans seemed to consider this carefully for a moment. He took his time delivering his response and Hermes could tell that he had trouble coming up with one.

"I…uh…well…I guess…I sort of just fell into this whole 'mercenary' thing," Frans said, "Besides, it's certainly better than being a writer who's struggling to make money off of his works."

"And what we're you planning on writing?" Hermes asked. He had never really thought of Frans as the intelligent writing type. He had never even bothered to ask what Frans' long-time ambitions were for as long as he had known him.

"Novels mainly, science fiction ones," Frans replied. He held up his copy of H.G Wells' _The War of the Worlds_. "Inspiration," he commented.

"Really? Science fiction?" Hermes scoffed. "That's a bit obsolete now since we have aliens living on our planet already."  
Frans shrugged.

"Yeah, but I like my aliens better," Frans said, "You know, I like the idea of reptilian aliens the most. None of this prawn-lookalike bullshit. That's not too interesting. The prawns…they're actually pretty repulsive and aren't the sort of aliens I would want to write about…"

"_Hey, Hermes you dumbass, you left your radio on. I've been able to hear you guys crap on from down here."_ The Colonel sounded amused and both Hermes and Frans fell silent, realizing that they had most definitely been slacking off from their job.

"_How about instead of you guys sitting around and crapping on about nothing you do your jobs? Watch my team from up high, you know, what you're being paid to do?"_ The Colonel was beginning to sound annoyed. This was understandable since Hermes and Frans weren't doing what they were supposed to.

Hermes managed a glance out of the open side door of the helicopter and he could see Keller and his squad waiting near the rover, some of them throwing the occasional glance at the prawns that were gathering nearby. It seemed they were faced with a sort of welcoming committee.

"Sorry Colonel," Hermes said, feeling a little embarrassed. He looked up at Frans and could see that he was feeling much the same way. He had returned to reading the novel, although his heart wasn't in it anymore.

"_Yeah, you will be sorry if you mess around anymore,"_ the Colonel said.

The Colonel sounded quite serious and Hermes immediately felt a tad worried. He was working under a man who seemed the type who would gladly break his neck for the slightest infringements.

"_We're going to be making a move on Vincent's home in a few minutes,"_ the Colonel said.

"Vincent? Who's that?" Frans was the one to ask this, delivering the question before Hermes could.

"_It's the name of the prawn we're after you dumbass,"_ Colonel Keller replied, still sounding a little annoyed, _"so, like I said, watch my fucking squad, alright? And watch me. The last thing I need is for some angry prawn to shoot me with some sort of laser cannon. THAT would really piss me off…"_

_He'll probably be doing us all a favour,_ Hermes thought absently.

"_Did you hear me, Hermes?"_ The Colonel's voice broke into Hermes' thoughts suddenly and effectively derailed his train of thought.

"Yeah, I heard you Colonel," Hermes replied. He hefted his sniper rifle and shifted his gaze out of the open side door, bringing the rifle up into a ready-to-fire position. He flicked off the safety and proceeded to gaze through the scope, scanning his aim across the mercenaries down in the streets below and then the prawns that were nearby. The mercenaries had begun to move into the nearest block of slums, heading towards Vincent Matheson's dwelling. Hermes saw the blue sedan parked nearby and found this suitably strange. What would a nice car like that be doing in a shithole like this?

"_Alright people, keep close and keep quiet,"_ The Colonel said, _"We don't want this guy making a run for it."_

Hermes put his finger to his sniper rifle's trigger, making sure that he was prepared to shoot at a moment's notice. Frans was watching from where he sat, trying his best to look like he was doing his job. He had taken out a set of binoculars and was scanning the slums on the ground below, looking for anything suspicious.

As much as Hermes would have wanted otherwise, today was going to be a _very_ long day.


	14. Apprehension

**Apprehension  
**District 9, Johannesburg  
June 11th, 2013  
0945 Hours

Vincent Matheson took one long look at himself in the dirtied and partially cracked mirror that was set up near one corner of the bedroom. It was only a relatively small mirror and gave a rather unflattering view of his face, one that only helped to remind him of what he was. He was just a no-good prawn, one that was probably smarter than most but still living in a shithole like this. He had no rights, no chance to amount to anything more than what he was now: just a no-good prawn trying to eke out a living in District 9.

This morning was different than most. He couldn't help but feel a little better about himself, evident in the way that he carefully slipped on the leather jacket that had since become part of his regular outfit. He tried his best to fit into his tattered trousers without tearing them again but failed in this regards, creating a slight tear in the fabric near the zip. He gave the prawn equivalent of a sigh, shaking his head and clicking quietly.

The bedroom was the second room of his reasonably sized shack and was less decorated than the other room. The only noticeable item was the bed, a slightly dirty mattress covered up with a few messed up and slightly dirty sheets. It certainly beat sleeping on the floor, something that Vincent had needed to do up until he had scavenged the mattress from somewhere nearby. He was probably cleaner than most prawns, doing his best to wash himself whenever he could as well as keep the inside of his dwelling reasonably hygienic. Whereas most prawns would probably just defecate in the corner on the floor, Vincent actually took the time to go outside and find somewhere out of the way to do it. It occurred to him that this may indicate that he was becoming rather human in his habits but it didn't seem like a bad thing. He guessed that it would help him relate to the activists that were trying to help his kind in a much better manner.

Vincent felt a tad thirsty and so brought up one of the jugs of fresh water that Linda had brought in earlier. Rather than use a glass he simply unscrewed the cap and downed about half of the jug, resting the jug itself on the floor nearby when he was done. The water certainly tasted better than the crap that came out of the pumps scattered throughout the district and there were no heavily armed Nigerian gangsters guarding it. It was simply clean, fresh and free water in these plastic jugs.

He detected footsteps behind him and slowly turned around, watching as a rather sheepish looking Linda stepped into the room. She was certainly looking a little roughed up and her clothes had been haphazardly put back on only a few minutes ago. Her hair was untied from its neat ponytail and it hung wildly over her shoulders. Vincent liked it better that way, hence the reason that he had untied it for her some time earlier.

"I…Well…" She seemed to be having trouble forming a cohesive sentence. Vincent watched with some curiosity and some hidden amusement as the human female seemed to be having trouble sorting through her jumbled thoughts.

"You want something to eat?" She finally asked, deciding to give up on trying to make sense of what had occurred in the last few hours. Vincent only nodded in response, although he could make perfect sense of it all. He didn't say anything but something told him that his relationship with Linda would never be the same again.

Vincent didn't feel guilty at all. Sure, it had seemed that Linda had had a lot on her mind but whatever it was it appeared to have gone now. Instead, she was much more at ease and only a little sheepish…as if what had happened embarrassed her a little. Vincent could understand why but he couldn't help but feel sort of pleased with himself, regardless of what Linda was thinking.

"What do you have?" Vincent asked, deciding to end the uneasy silence that had fallen upon the room.

"Ah…well, the usual. Yeah, the usual…" She stumbled over her words, trying her best to not make eye contact with the prawn. Vincent took a step forwards and placed an easing hand on her shoulder, inkling her to shift her gaze up to his yellow feline-like eyes.

"Is something wrong?" Vincent asked.

"No…Uh…Yes…I mean, no…" Linda again stumbled over her words, finding it difficult to form a proper sentence. Vincent watched her curiously, finding it strange that the usually confident woman had suddenly become a guilt-ridden wreck.

She took a step back and slipped out from under the grip Vincent had on her shoulder. The prawn looked at her strangely, trying to work out what she was feeling. Vincent had sort of learned how to determine what a human was thinking from their general body language. He could tell that there was indeed something weighing on Linda's mind again. He couldn't really work out what though but he guessed it was from what they had spent the last few hours doing together. Maybe he felt good about it…but Linda, well she was a bit hard to work out. All humans were hard to work out. With prawns Vincent could instantly determine what they were thinking from the pheromones they emitted rather than just their normal body language. With humans it was a lot harder, especially since they didn't emit a lot of pheromones and when they did they provided absolutely no meaning to Vincent at all, being alien in origin.

Linda looked towards him, frowning a little as she did so. Vincent watched as she began to tie her hair back again, feeling some disappointment as she did this. He liked her hair better when it was down; he thought it simply looked good on her that way.

"Do you have anything on your mind?" She asked, succeeding in tying her hair back into its usual neat ponytail.

"No, not really," Vincent chirped happily. He immediately noticed the look of annoyance that appeared on Linda's face and felt annoyed at himself for the overly happy way he had delivered the answer. Why shouldn't he be happy? For the first time in a long time he felt genuinely good about himself, all because of this one human.

"Oh, you don't?" Linda sounded like she looked: annoyed. "I would prefer it if we sort of forgot about what just happened, alright?"

"You would?" Vincent was perplexed. "I don't know about you humans, but when my people ma—"

"Just…don't talk about it. To anyone. Not even to me." Linda interrupted Vincent's response and delivered each of her points in a quick but blunt manner.

"I don't understand," Vincent said, shaking his head. What was going on? About twenty minutes ago and Linda was perhaps the happiest human he knew. That was probably because of what had been going on at the time. He couldn't help but to remember this and once again feel good about himself.

"My people would make sure to remember it," Vincent said, "It is, after all, the highest level a relationship can go. Why would you choose not to remember it and cherish—"

"Seriously, Vincent, just shut up," Linda interrupted, shaking her head, "You have to understand that I'm human. Us humans are different. Very different, but I'm sure you noticed that…"

"I have noticed it," Vincent replied. He couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed at Linda's sudden change in attitude. He was sure he could talk her into thinking otherwise but right now she seemed genuinely angry and perhaps a bit guilty.

"And you should understand then that human relationships are considerably different to the ones your race have with each other," Linda explained. She seemed to be calm and collected now, hinting that whatever animosity she felt was gone. Vincent wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad thing.

"Tell me Vincent, have you ever met a fellow female alien you liked?" Linda asked.

Vincent shook his head. Linda raised an eyebrow when she saw this, realizing something rather important that was a direct result.

"So, I'm your first one? Your first…uh…female?"

Vincent nodded. He wasn't at all ashamed to admit it. Whereas a typical human male might be a bit embarrassed Vincent actually prided himself on being honest. Sure, he might manage the occasional lie but when it came to this sort of thing…well, he preferred to be honest. His father had drummed this into his personality during his earlier years as a mere youth, left to hang around the streets of District 9 where he had learned to look out for himself. Life here was tough and Linda was the only thing that really brightened the otherwise bleak rigours of living in a place like District 9.

"Well…That's a surprise. I thought that you aliens were always trying to breed…"

Vincent looked at her, perplexed. What was she talking about now?

"So…I'm just supposed to forget about all of this?" Vincent asked, "Just forget about it? As if it never happened?"

Linda shrugged.

"Just don't mention it…to _anyone_. This sort of thing is something I'd prefer to keep quiet."

Vincent nodded, although he was still a bit perplexed. Linda had enjoyed it, that much had been obvious. But now, after it was over…she seemed genuinely annoyed. Vincent felt a little insulted and this came across in the angry chirp he emitted. Linda took note of it and raised an eyebrow, trying to determine just what the prawn was feeling.

"You seem annoyed…"

"Because I was convinced that we genuinely had something going on between us," Vincent replied, "and instead you turn around after it's over and tell me you'd prefer that it never happened?"  
Linda shook her head, taking a careful step forwards. She seemed a bit moody, something that wasn't common in her. Vincent could tell that all sorts of contradicting thoughts were racing through her mind, most of them probably being about him.

"Listen, Vincent, I…I just feel strange about all of this, alright?" Linda said, her voice traced with uncertainty.

"Strange?" Vincent gave the prawn equivalent of a frown. "I can understand that, but..."

"I got carried away," Linda said, interrupting him, "I like you Vincent, you're intelligent, understanding and you're more likable than most of the human men I know. It's just that I've been going through a rough time lately."

"How so?" Vincent had been able to tell as much. Linda had seemed a bit apprehensive in the past few weeks, as if there had been something weighing heavily on her mind.

"Things at home…My mother, she's sick. She's got cancer and chances are she's going to die soon."

Vincent had only vaguely heard of some of the more deadly human illnesses. Cancer he wasn't too familiar with but he had heard of it. From the look in Linda's eyes it was definitely serious enough to make her look like she was on the verge of tears. Vincent had never known his mother but he did know that many humans valued family over everything else.

"And my brother, he's not being much of a help in the matter," Linda continued, seeing that Vincent was actually taking the time to listen. Vincent was certainly interested to hear about what was weighing so heavily on her mind since it might help him know her better. He doubted the two of them could get any closer than they had earlier but he listened on anyway.

"He lives over in America, trying to make it big as a movie director," Linda explained. She shook her head. "I think he's forgotten that he has an ill mother and pissed off sister living in South Africa. All of the calls I've sent him have been left unanswered. In fact, I don't think he cares about us. He's too busy trying to make a decent movie."

Vincent had vaguely heard of the other nations that the humans had on their planet. America was the term often associated with the United States, although the United States was only part of a much larger continent. Vincent wasn't sure just what a "movie" was although he was fairly certain that it was some sort of human entertainment thing.

"My mother wants to see him; you know…She actually wants to see her son again before she dies. It's been about four years since they last saw each other." She paused, managing a somewhat weak smile. Vincent could tell that she was trying to be optimistic about it even though it seemed that her family life had taken a significant downturn in recent times.

"You're a good listener, you know that Vincent?" She said.

Vincent was taken off-guard by this statement, having been thinking about what Linda had told him. Her mother was dying, her brother was neglecting his family and so Linda was left to take care of her ill mother. No wonder Linda was moody: she had the weight of her mother's impending death and the thoughts about her prick of a brother on her mind.

"Sorry?" Vincent clicked, looking into her eyes. Linda's eyes were definitely striking in appearance

"I said that you're a good listener," she repeated, "Most of the guys I know would be trying to talk over me about stuff they like. You, on the other hand…You're different. In more ways than one. That's why I like you."

Vincent felt good about himself again. He was about to return the comment, saying something like "I like you too" but he didn't. He realized that their actions earlier on perhaps said more than anything he could come up with.

"And that's probably why we uh…" She trailed off and shook her head, as if she still couldn't quite believe it.

Vincent felt his stomach rumble. The only thing he had had to eat today was about a single can of cat food which was certainly not a full breakfast. The supplies Linda had brought along were still lying around in the next room. Usually by now the pair were out in District 9 handing food and water out to the other prawns but this morning the two of them had gotten…distracted.

"I'm hungry," he said.

Without further notice he stepped past Linda and through the doorway that went into his shack's other room. Here he rummaged through the supplies Linda had brought with her, finding a protein bar which he unwrapped carefully and chewed down happily. Some of the human "sweets" he especially enjoyed, thus he was delighted to find a few Mars bars amongst the supplies Linda had brought. He had three, eating them all within ten minutes. Linda watched him with some amusement from the bedroom doorway as Vincent chowed down on the sweets.

"I didn't think you had such a sweet tooth," she commented.

Vincent looked up and towards her, wiping the few traces of chocolate that had stuck at the corners of his mouth.

"A sweet tooth? What's that?" He asked. He honestly didn't know the answer and would have liked to find out but Linda only laughed.

"Never mind about that," she said, stepping towards him. She took a look at the bags and boxes of supplies scattered across the floor, considering what to do with them for a moment.

"We should get around to handing these out to the others in the neighbourhood," she said, "There's bound to be some starving aliens around here."

"I wouldn't be too sure," Vincent said, "Most of the other prawns who live nearby are all into eating cat food."

Linda sighed when she heard this. Vincent managed a shrug, honestly at a loss on what to do about it. It was the truth after all and it wasn't a particularly nice truth either.

"We can blame the Nigerians for that. They have a whole business operation going," Linda said, "but we'll still hand out these supplies. It's the least we could do."

Vincent nodded. His headache was returning, hinting that he was quite over his cat food withdrawal. What he wouldn't do for some more of that stuff, regardless of its unappealing look and often negative side effects. It tasted so _good_; no wonder most of the other prawns were so addicted to it.

"Something wrong?" Linda asked, noticing Vincent's pained grimace.

"A headache," he replied, "It's nothing."

Linda frowned again, trying to work out if it was indeed nothing. Vincent figured he could take a mere headache and so decided to leave it be. There wasn't much he could do about it now anyway, unless Linda just happened to have some sort of painkilling drugs on her. He doubted that such human drugs would have the desired effect on his body but it was always worth a try.

Outside a helicopter flew overhead. Vincent was used to the sound and thought nothing of it, thinking that MNU was just doing another of their sweeps of the area. They were always keen to observe the prawns that lived down in District 9, perhaps trying to formulate a rough estimate of the population. There was the possibility that maybe MNU was scouting for suitable test subjects for their experiments but even Vincent knew that the corporation had been forced to stop these experiments. There had been rumours floating around of a certain human who had for one helped Christopher Johnson escape Earth as well as taken on MNU. Vincent was never one to pay attention to rumours but only recently had the ferocity of these rumours increased. There was a whole terrorist group in operation from somewhere in District 10 and apparently they were very well organized. The human in question had something to do with it apparently but once again Vincent paid little attention to such gossip. He usually had more important things to worry about, like surviving life in District 9.

"Did you hear that?" Linda asked, suddenly alert. She gazed around the interior of the shack, obviously having heard something. It had been enough to make some trace of worry enter her voice, as if what she had heard had unnerved her.

Vincent looked around and shook his head. He hadn't heard anything, having been too busy pondering his own thoughts. He was always thinking about things, preferring to take in a situation as a whole before actually saying anything. He was the quiet type, to say the least.

"What?" Vincent asked. He strained to hear anything out of the ordinary, his sensitive alien hearing unable to detect anything odd.

"I thought I heard footsteps outside," Linda said.

"So? It could be just another prawn…"

Linda wasn't convinced. Vincent, on the other hand, was. He heard footsteps outside all the time, usually from fellow prawns who were wandering around outside. Linda was just overreacting and as such her worries would be unnecessary.

Vincent bent down and searched another one of the bags of supplies, finding another Mars bar. He was about to start unwrapped it when he _did_ hear footsteps outside. He paused, the fingers of his left hand only centimetres from the Mars bar he gripped in his right hand. He wriggled them impatiently, taking in the noises outside.

Oddly enough the sound of the helicopter was still quite audible. Usually MNU helicopters just flew by, doing entire patrols of the district. The one he could hear outside now seemed to be hovering in place. Vincent assumed that the humans on board had probably just seen something interesting, maybe some prawns fighting or Nigerian gangsters beating some up. Such occurrences were common here and Vincent saw them happen nearly every day.

He carefully started to unwrap the Mars bar, looking forward to the fascinating taste it provided. The humans described it as having "a milk chocolate outside with caramel and nougat on the inside" but Vincent didn't care much for the specifics. What the hell was caramel, or nougat for that matter? Who cares? It tasted damn good and Vincent wouldn't pass up a chance to have one…or two…or maybe even five or six. There seemed to be plenty in the bag at his feet.

He was completely unprepared for what happened next. He was about to bite into the Mars bar when the door of his shanty exploded inwards, followed by a flash and thick column of dust and smoke. The whole shanty seemed to reverberate with the blast, with wall ornaments shaking and the ground vibrating beneath his feet. Linda screamed with surprise, stumbling backwards in shock before tumbling over the wooden table set up in the middle of the room and falling onto the floor. She grunted in pain but was otherwise alright, although Vincent couldn't help but feel a pang of concern as he watched her fall.

The fragments of the door shot through the room, one hard hot splinter hitting the prawn in the shoulder. It was deflected off of his hard exoskeleton and instead embedded itself in the floor near his feet. Vincent looked towards the smoke that filled the doorway as sunlight streamed inside. He was taken completely off-guard and so simply stared dumbly towards the destroyed door, thinking that it would take some time to fix the damage that had been done. Linda was slowly rising to her feet and he thought he should help her up. She seemed obviously dazed from the inexplicable explosion.

Suddenly human shapes became visible amongst the smoke. It began to clear as Vincent watched and he felt a sudden wave of fear as he saw that the humans were armed. Two of them stormed into the shack, both kitted out in black MNU combat gear and holding rifles. One of them was a young human woman, blonde haired and rather good-looking. The other was a dark-skinned man with some dark facial hair to match.

It occurred to Vincent then and there that they had come for him. Why they had he couldn't be sure. In fact, there was no reason to believe that he was the reason that MNU had decided to barge into his home. Of course in a frantic state like this he was having trouble thinking rationally and thus his first reaction was to attack.

"Get down, asshole!" The woman shouted, her voice stern and intimidating. She seemed to have noticed Vincent tense himself and prepare for attack, thus she was going to make sure he wouldn't try anything. Behind them and through the doorway Vincent could see other humans standing outside, rifles raised. He realized that he would have his work cut out for him if he tried to escape.

"Don't fucking move!" The woman shouted again. On the front of her Kevlar vest Vincent could make out the name 'TAYLOR' printed on it in small white letters, just underneath one breast. Vincent wasn't about to get arrested by MNU, especially since it did seem like they had come for him.

He charged and before the woman named Taylor had a chance to react he had knocked her aside, sending her entire form flying into the nearest wall. The dark-skinned human male shifted his attention onto Vincent but had no time to react before the prawn struck him across the chest, sending his entire form flying out of the open door. He disappeared from view, shouting loudly as he landed painfully in the dirt outside.

Vincent swivelled around where he stood, barely fazed but what had just transpired. Outside he could hear shouting as more of the MNU mercenaries started for his home, weapons raised. He shifted his gaze towards Linda, who was just getting back on her feet.

"What's happening?" She asked, confused.

"MNU's here. We have to leave," Vincent replied. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, racing her and himself towards the door. As soon as they were out in the sun Vincent realized just how dire their situation was.

There were about ten other mercenaries, all of them scattered around his shack's perimeter. The woman he had knocked aside before was back up and on her feet, her expression one of sheer anger as she stepped outside and stuck the barrel of her rifle into Vincent's back.

Nearby an MNU helicopter hovered, the sniper seated inside making sure to keep his aim centred on Vincent. Ahead of the prawn a stern and imposing looking human male in grey MNU combat gear started forwards, a shiny silver handgun gripped in his right hand. The name on his vest read 'KELLER' and he was quite obviously the leader of the bunch.

Vincent wasn't about to go quietly. He pushed Linda aside, hoping that she wouldn't get dragged into this. She was quickly grabbed by one of the mercenaries and Vincent could only chirp angrily in protest as she was forced onto her knees.

Keller came forward and simply smiled, taking in the nineteen year old prawn with a careful examining gaze. His eyes seemed cold and calculating, as if he had seen and killed many things before. Whether those things had been prawns like Vincent was impossible to tell.

"Vincent Matheson?" Keller asked.

Vincent didn't reply. Keller stepped forward, accompanied by a young looking mercenary with light brown hair.

"Answer me, ugly," Keller said.

"Fuck you," Vincent replied bluntly. He wasn't about to let himself be intimidated by this prick of a human.

Keller frowned and turned to the mercenary standing next to him.

"What did he say?" Keller asked.

"He…uh…said 'fuck you', Colonel." The mercenary sounded rather anxious as he interpreted Vincent's insectoid sounding chirps and clicks. It sounded almost as if he was afraid of Keller. Rather than do anything nasty, Keller only shook his head as he turned his gaze back towards Vincent. He nodded towards Linda, who was watching the exchange through narrowed eyes.

"Who's that?" Keller asked, "Your human girlfriend?"

He stepped over to Linda and Vincent watched as he stopped a short distance from where she was on her knees. Vincent wanted to lash out at the human, unable to quite control the anger that was building up inside of him. He held himself back though, only because of the number of rifles that were trained on him.

His gaze went to the human in the dark blue uniform standing a fair distance from the mercenaries. He was unarmed and seemed to be watching passively although Vincent could sense some sort of apprehension the human male had towards what was happening. Whoever that human was he certainly wasn't about to intervene.

"Tell me, who the hell are you?" Keller asked, peering down at Linda. She returned his gaze, fear visible in her usually striking brown eyes.

"Linda…Linda Cooper…" She croaked, still confused as to what was happening and why.

"What were you doing with old seafood-face over there?" Keller nodded towards Vincent and the prawn felt another near uncontrollable bout of anger. Who did this human think he is? He was acting as if he owned the place. As well as that he certainly wasn't being very friendly towards Linda. Vincent felt protective of her; after all, she risked her life coming out to District 9 and delivering supplies.

"Fuck off," Linda replied and she spat at Keller's feet.

Keller shook his head and pressed the cold silver barrel of his handgun against Linda's temple. Immediately the look of determined resistance disappeared from her face and was replaced by one of sudden fear. She didn't want to die, not here and not now. The only thing she had done wrong was be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Vincent sort of blamed himself for this, primarily because she would have left by now if the two of them hadn't gotten…distracted.

"Listen here, you bitch," Keller said, his voice laced with a calm but ruthless tone, "Your prawn friend here, he's a known terrorist sympathiser. And you, Linda, have been found collaborating with him. That's enough to have you thrown in prison for quite a long time…"  
"He's not a terrorist," Linda said defensively. Her gaze met with Vincent's and the prawn simply shook his head. He had severed his ties with the prawn rebel groups months ago.

"Oh, and I suppose you would know that for certain?" Keller asked mockingly, an unnerving smile playing across his features, "Are you two what…Well acquainted? Friends? No…Lovers, even?" He laughed loudly but it ended rather abruptly as his gaze went from Linda and back to Vincent.

He took the barrel of the gun away from Linda's temple and started walking towards Vincent. Linda breathed a sigh of relief but didn't dare move for fear of being gunned down.

"Vincent, huh? Did you choose that name yourself?" Keller asked as he stopped a short distance from the prawn. Their eyes met and Vincent made sure to deliver one rather hateful stare straight into Keller's eyes. Keller was unfazed, unable to tell just what Vincent was trying to put across to him since he had no idea of how to decipher a prawn's facial expression.

There was a sudden shout from behind Keller and immediately his attention had turned back to Linda. She had managed to grab the gun off of the mercenary who had been behind her, seizing the chance to cause trouble. Vincent wasn't about to leave her but when Keller raised his pistol the prawn reacted more on impulse than anything else. He lunged for the ruthless Colonel, knocking him into the ground just as a rifle fired from somewhere behind him. The other mercenaries didn't dare shoot for fear of killing the prawn they were supposed to take alive.

"Don't kill him! We need him alive!" Keller shouted as he pushed Vincent off of him. The prawn landed in the dirt and Keller started to rise to his feet, still relatively unfazed.

Some of the other mercenaries had set upon Linda and had effectively subdued her, forcing her back onto her knees and pulling the rifle out of her grip. Vincent saw the way that one of the mercenaries was hitting her in the ribs with the butt-end of his rifle and so jumped back onto his feet and raced for this mercenary. He didn't have much chance to react as Vincent delivered a painful right hook into the mercenary's face, one that was powerful enough to break his jaw and knock out several teeth. A spray of blood and spittle erupted from the mercenary's mouth and he fell onto the ground, unconscious.

Linda was on all fours, breathing heavily as she tried to recover from the blows she had received. She went for the unconscious mercenary's rifle that had fallen to the ground near her but her reach was stopped by one of Keller's booted feet. He kicked the rifle away while keeping his distance from Vincent, making sure to keep his shiny silver pistol levelled in the angry prawn's direction.

Vincent found that he was being surrounded by heavily armed mercenaries. He was about to charge for the nearest one when something hot and sharp blew a hole in his right leg, just at his shin. He shouted in agony, falling to his knees as warm black blood oozed out of the wound and dripped onto the ground. He put one hand to the wound and found that it came back thick with his own blood. It throbbed painfully and his eyes watered.

In the helicopter above, Hermes Kossel ejected the spent bullet casing from his suppressed Tango-51 rifle and smiled at his handiwork. _Damn, I'm good_, he thought.

Keller stood over the wounded Vincent, that unnerving smile of his still pasted across his features. He didn't seem at all bothered by what had unfolded and instead seemed quite calm and collected. He did make sure to keep his handgun trained towards Vincent's head though, just in case.

"You two are certainly troublemakers," Keller commented. He then looked towards the mercenaries surrounding both Vincent and Linda. "You lot pack these two into the APC and have them taken back into the city. Make sure they're both appropriately restrained and under constant watch during the trip. Is that clear?"

The mercenaries nodded. Vincent and Linda were held at gunpoint while forced to stand up. Vincent stumbled on his wounded leg, keeping silent despite the intense pain that was flowing through him from the wound. He could only hobble on it in a rather slow and pathetic fashion, finding that the mercenaries watched him with some curiosity as he was escorted back to the MNU APC with Linda.

Vincent had an idea of what awaited him in MNU custody. They would question him thoroughly and on more than one occasion. When he had given them all the information he could they would probably send him off to be experimented on or they would simply kill him. Neither fate appealed to him. He glanced over at Linda as the pair were walked towards the white APC, able to tell that she was thinking along the same lines. Vincent doubted that she would receive the same sort of treatment, especially since she had no links to any terrorist groups. Vincent had but had severed them months ago after Linda had persuaded him that terrorism wasn't the right way to go if he wanted his race to gain equality.

Vincent wasn't going to let himself be taken prisoner. Nor was he going to let Linda get dragged into it all because of her being in his home at the time of the arrival of the MNU mercenaries. What he needed was a plan and unfortunately he didn't have one. He would have to make things up as he went along…And this was certainly harder than it sounded.


	15. The Prawnling

**The Prawnling  
**District 9, Johannesburg  
June 11th, 2013  
1020 Hours

Lukas Farber watched the arrest from a distance, preferring to put plenty of room between himself and the prawn known as Vincent Matheson. This was a wise decision judging by what had happened since Vincent had decided to put up a bit of a struggle, knocking Samuel and Sarah aside with relative ease before knocking another mercenary out cold. Apparently that mercenary would need surgery to fix the damage that had been done, having been left with a broken jaw and several fractures in his skull.

Lukas had been surprised to see the human activist worker had been arrested as well. He couldn't see any reason to keep her detained but he hadn't said anything about it, preferring to keep quiet as Keller carried out the arrest. No matter what happened Keller managed to keep a straight face, even putting on that unnerving smile of his as he subdued Vincent. It hadn't been easy to do and had required Hermes, from up in the helicopter, to shoot the prawn through one of the legs.

Lukas had been waiting outside for the last ten minutes as Keller and some of the other mercenaries searched Vincent's shack. From within Lukas could hear all sorts of things being said, mostly by Keller in regards to what they found.

"Looks like this one's been reading!" Keller exclaimed from inside, "Look at this: a Bible. What could an ugly alien want with that?"

If Lukas' wife was here she would want him to turn around and leave. This whole operation was just another example of MNU oppressing the prawns. Keller seemed to enjoy it a bit too much, furthering Lukas' perception that there was something not quite right about the man. The way he had threatened the human activist worker (her name was Linda, apparently) had been a bit too _ruthless_, a bit too _unnerving_. Lukas figured he could just hang back until he was needed rather than get willingly involved in what went on. He doubted they would need his expertise anyway, unless they found something genuinely interesting.

Samuel walked over, looking a little flustered after his close call with Vincent. He seemed a little annoyed, having suffered a few bruises and scratches from when Vincent had knocked him aside. Prawns were stronger than humans and had no trouble in sending someone flying six feet from a single blow.

"You alright?" Lukas asked.

Samuel looked up as he approached, shaking his head in sheer annoyance.

"Do I look alright?" Samuel asked, delivering it as more of a rhetorical question than one that Lukas should answer, "The Colonel said it would be easy. I didn't think his definition of 'easy' meant getting slammed into the nearest wall by an angry prawn…"

Lukas listened carefully although he didn't really care too much about Samuel's complaints. In all regards the man looked fine, no broken bones and no serious cuts or gashes. The mercenary who had been knocked out was in far worse shape, currently being carted away on a stretcher by two of the other mercenaries.

District 9 was an awfully quiet place. Aside from the sounds of the mercenaries talking, the helicopter blades spinning and the morning breeze billowing past the nearby shacks it seemed that the whole neighbourhood was rather quiet. Most of the dwellings here would be deserted, left to gather dust and weather away in the Johannesburg climate. A stone wall that was breaking in several places was nearby, covered with mostly meaningless graffiti. 'POWER TO THE PRAWNS' was spray painted across it all in big red letters, presumably being someone's idea of a joke…or not, it was hard to tell.

Lukas had never been to District 9 simply because he had never needed to. His job at MNU until now had been kept within the safety of offices and laboratories at the headquarters building back in the city. He had never expected that he would get given an actual job out in the field but even with all the dangers it presented, it certainly beat working in an office.

"What are we going to do now?" Lukas asked. Most of the other mercenaries were busy searching the perimeter of Vincent Matheson's shack while Colonel Keller was still inside, rifling through the prawn's personal belongings with in an absolutely blasé manner.

Samuel shrugged, not too sure about this himself.

"We wait for them to finish whatever it is they're doing," Samuel replied, "if they find anything chances are we'll follow up on it. I think Keller's busy looking for anything that could link this Vincent prawn to the terrorists…And if he finds what he's looking for that could mean we're in for one hell of a long day."

Lukas nodded. He had watched both Vincent and Linda get escorted to the APC, wondering about what fates were in store for them. He somehow doubted that MNU would treat them as honoured guests. It was unnerving to think that the very people he worked for were always so quick to simply kill any prawns that might be considered a threat to them. Then again Lukas felt obligated to keep working for MNU, even if things had gotten a bit dull of late. Now though he seemed to be in a far more interesting position of work, able to watch as Keller and his mercenaries carried out MNU's dirty work.

Keller emerged from the shack holding something large and unwieldy. He seemed pleased with the find and waved at Lukas to come over. Lukas composed himself, realizing that maybe he would be needed after all. He started towards the Colonel, Samuel following a few metres behind.

As Lukas closed in at the Colonel he saw just what it was that he was holding. It was a large black metal and high-tech looking alien weapon, the type that MNU researchers would no doubt be interested in. It had all the features of a typical human weapon, with a pistol grip, trigger, sights and so forth but was distinctly more advanced in these regards. Lukas had seen similar alien weapons before during his time in MNU's alien weapon research department. No matter how much they had tried it seemed that the weapons were programmed to work for prawn DNA only. The one time that they had actually gotten them to work back in 2010 and Lukas had been home sick with the flu. It was just his luck to miss out on a live demonstration, it seemed.

"Take a look at this, Lukas," Keller said, thrusting the heavy alien rifle into his hands. Lukas gripped it carefully, weighing it in his hands as he took a careful examination of its design. It was a typical prawn design with no sort of insignia and only a few alien symbols down the pistol grip.

"Seems that Vincent had this hidden away in his bedroom," Keller continued. He was still chewing the cigar he had been smoking earlier, occasionally puffing into it. When he did the smoke went into Lukas' face, making his eyes water and nose sting. Lukas tried his best not to cough when this happened.

"As well as that there were a few old papers," Keller said, reaching into a pocket and removing some yellowed and crinkled sheets. Behind him Sarah Taylor and Kyle stood, watching and listening as Keller skimmed through the messy handwriting that was on each.

"Says here: _Protect yourself. It's been good knowing you. Signed, W.H._ Keller paused, looking at the alien weapon and the note. "Seems our boy Vincent _was_ a terrorist, at least for a time. This gun seems to be some sort of going away gift…"

"What do you want me to do with it?" Lukas asked.

"Take it back to the guys in the tech van," Keller said, "they're just a few blocks away. And tell them we've got a new lead."

Lukas frowned. He wasn't quite following what Keller was saying until he noticed that the papers he had found weren't completely blank under the writing. In fact, each seemed to be a rations card and each had 'District 10' clearly printed on them.

"District 10," Keller said, "seems our boy Vincent's been there. It's also safe to assume that whoever gave him the going away gift will also be there. It's just a matter of finding out whereabouts in District 10 this guy lives. I'm sure we'll find out, one way or another."

Lukas nodded. It seemed his new job was to be the errand boy for Keller, something he didn't really like the idea of. Behind him Samuel seemed to be thinking along the same lines. Keller went back into the shack with Sarah and Kyle to continue the search, allowing Lukas to turn around and start heading to where the tech van was apparently parked.

"Seems that Keller's relegated you to the 'errand boy' position," Samuel commented as he walked alongside Lukas. He held his rifle in one hand, resting its weight on one shoulder as he walked.

"I couldn't tell," Lukas replied sarcastically. He noticed that Samuel seemed to know where he was going and started to follow him. In fact, Lukas felt like he was completely out of place in this whole team. Here he was, in a hostile part of Johannesburg accompanied by a bunch of mercenaries. Why did they even need him? He couldn't exactly do much to help them, unless they were expecting to find something…something based on alien technology. Not just typical alien weaponry but something that only Lukas would have some idea about. Nothing sprang immediately to mind though.

The pair strolled down the narrow dirt roads that winded in between blocks of shanties. Other MNU mercenary teams were in the neighbourhood, searching shacks and arresting prawns when necessary. After a few minutes Samuel turned a corner onto one of the less populated streets and Lukas followed, the pair having to step over some piles of junk as they continued onwards.

"So, Lukas, you married? Got a girlfriend or something?" Samuel asked as they walked, passing several derelict shanties. There was a chirping sound nearby and a lone dishevelled prawn wandered by, busy rifling through the discarded trash that littered the street.

Lukas look up, taken off-guard by the question. Samuel was only just trying to make conversation and Lukas guessed that it was better than walking along in complete silence. That would be awkward.

"Yeah, I'm married," Lukas said. The alien rifle he held seemed to be getting heavier as he went and he shifted it so that most of its weight was resting on one shoulder. It didn't help his muscles there much since they were already beginning to ache.

"Really?" Samuel raised an eyebrow. "Looking at you, I didn't think you'd be the type to settle for the one woman."

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know. There's just something about you…something that tells me you can't just settle for the one woman."

Lukas frowned. Sure, before he had gotten married he had managed to get involved with numerous other women but nothing had come of those short-lived relationships. It hadn't been until he met Katherine that he had thought of actually getting married.

"I found the right one," Lukas said, "the right woman. Her name's Katherine. We have a five year old daughter and we're still happily married, unlike all those other marriages that fall apart nowadays. I'm hoping ours doesn't go the same way."

Samuel nodded, listening carefully.

"Good to hear you're so determined to keep it working," Samuel said. The pair passed a pile of discarded scrap metal, wood and rusted household appliances. On top of the pile were a pair of hunched over prawns, both of whom were rummaging through the trash looking for any items of interest. Samuel and Lukas managed only passing glances, even if the prawns stopped what they were doing and gave the humans careful, examining gazes. They were probably trying to work out what purpose the two humans had in the neighbourhood and they were probably wondering why one of them was holding an alien weapon.

"I have a girlfriend," Samuel continued, "but I doubt it'll get any further than that. I just can't fathom the thought of actually choosing to stick with the one woman, you know? It's almost daunting…Shit, I don't like the idea at all. I doubt I could do what you've done and get married."

Lukas shrugged. He hadn't really thought much about it. Sure, his wedding day had been fairly nerve-racking but once it was done life settled into routine. He would get up in the morning, say goodbye to his wife and daughter, go to work, come home from work, spend time with his wife and daughter and on weekends they would go out somewhere together. That usually meant going to the cinema or some other place to waste a few hours simply by spending quality time together.

"You must know how to control yourself," Samuel added.

Lukas frowned. Sure, there were always other pretty young women who caught his eye but his loyalty was to Katherine and no one else. Last thing he wanted to do was cheat on his wife…he just wasn't that kind of person.

"I just do what I think is right," Lukas replied, "and that means resisting whatever temptations I'm faced with. Katherine's the only woman for me, regardless of any of the others that I might encounter."

He stopped, hearing movement behind them. Samuel stopped a few paces ahead, swivelling around to face Lukas while managing a bemused expression.

"What is it?" He asked, confused.

Lukas turned around and was quite surprised by what he saw. Behind them, having been tagging along at a distance of about five metres was a prawn. It wasn't just any ordinary prawn, rather it couldn't have been more than a year old. It was the size of a medium-sized dog, its exoskeleton a mottled green colour. It must have been following them for some time since small clawed footprints trailed off behind it in the dirt, mingling with the larger footprints left by the two humans. With its hazel eyes it gazed towards the two humans, startled that its presence had been discovered but otherwise it didn't seem very frightened.

The young prawn, or "prawnling" as was the common term the humans used was slightly hunched over as it walked. It was yet to develop a strong upright stance, still too young to have such fluid mobility. It was hard to tell just what gender it was from this distance although Lukas wasn't exactly keen on a thorough examination to find out. Its exoskeleton was perhaps smoother in appearance without as many protruding pointed lumps and less gaps in the plating. It looked up towards Lukas with a curious gaze and for a moment Lukas thought he saw some sort of fascination in its hazel eyes. They were opened wide in awe, as if it had never seen a human before. This was certainly a possibility, especially for one as young as this. It probably hid from humans more than it saw them, perceiving them as those strange creatures who marched around the district shooting stuff and beating up prawns. This was namely the Nigerians who did this, although MNU was no stranger to violence against prawns either.

Lukas didn't think much of it. It was obviously some sort of wandering young prawn, left to fend for itself on the harsh streets of District 9. Why it was so intrigued with the two humans here and now was unknown although Lukas guessed he could "persuade" it to go away. Samuel was looking at it with an expression on his face that one only made when they were looking at a cute kitten. Lukas failed to see much cuteness in the prawn. What he did notice was that it was somewhat skinny, perhaps only because of its young age. A more possible explanation was that it had gone without food for days, something that wouldn't be at all surprising.

"Hey, a little prawn," Samuel said, sounding like he had fallen for it already. There was a smile on his face as he looked towards it and the prawnling returned the gaze, managing a curious sounding chirp.

"Yeah, well…That's just riveting." Lukas shook his head before taking a look around the street in the hope that the prawnling's parents were nearby. Rather, there were no adult prawns around. Even the two that he and Samuel had passed by earlier were gone, having wandered elsewhere to find food.

"You have to admit, the little guy's sort of cute," Samuel said, glancing over at Lukas. He noticed Lukas' lack of appreciation for the young alien and frowned.

"You don't like it?" Samuel asked.

"I have no problem with it," Lukas replied, ignoring the prawnling's annoyed sounding chirp. Maybe it could understand them? Lukas doubted it; the prawnling seemed far too young to have developed even a slight grasp of English.

"It's just that…I sort of prefer cats to prawns."

Samuel laughed. Above an MNU helicopter buzzed by and the noise seemed to get the prawnling's attention. Rather than run and hide as Lukas was expecting the prawnling watched the helicopter race overhead with wide eyes, as if it found the whole thing a sight to behold.

"Give it something to eat," Samuel suggested.

Lukas frowned, the statement taking a moment to register in his mind. Give it something to eat? Why should he need to do that? It's not like he carried cat food around with him all the time…

"Like what?"

"Like that Mars bar I know you have in your pocket," Samuel said. Lukas was about to protest but Samuel simply reached into a pocket on the engineer's trousers and casually snatched out the Mars bar being kept within. The prawnling watched the pair of humans carefully, still unsure as to their purpose. Were they here to help or to harm? Even so, the prawnling remained watching and waiting with a curious look on its alien features.

Lukas would have preferred to keep the Mars bar for himself but he didn't stop Samuel as he unwrapped the bar and knelt down. He held the bar out as an offering to the obviously starving prawnling and the creature stepped forward in a surprisingly confident manner. Without much delay it snatched the Mars bar from Samuel's grip, pulling away the rest of the wrapper before scoffing down the chocolate nougat treat within seconds.

"I really don't think we should be feeding it," Lukas said, "The smell might attract others…"

"Let them come," Samuel replied, "There's plenty of cat food back at the van."

"There is?" Lukas frowned, surprised to hear this.

"Yeah there is," Samuel said, "It's good to distract any curious prawns. Just throw a few cans their way and stand back and watch them fight over it. It's pretty funny to watch."

The prawnling chirped happily and took a few steps forward. It seemed to be heading for Lukas and thus the engineer took a few steps backwards. The prawnling halted, seemingly disappointed that the human didn't exactly want to be close.

"I think it likes you," Samuel said, amused. He was grinning much to Lukas' discontent.

"Yeah, well it's going to be disappointed. I don't exactly want to give it a hug, alright?" Lukas said although Samuel didn't seem to be listening. He was watching the prawnling as it started towards Lukas again. One of its claws scraped on one leg of Lukas' trousers and the engineer jumped back in surprise, his heart-rate suddenly increasing immensely. The prawnling didn't seem at all perturbed by Lukas' reaction, looking up at him and chirping again.

"I take it you don't like prawns?" Samuel asked, still grinning.

Lukas shook his head.

"It's not that I don't like them…I just haven't had much experience with them."

"Afraid it'll jump up and rip your throat out?" Samuel seemed to find this funny.

"Look, I really don't have time for this," Lukas said, turning his back on the prawnling. Up ahead he could see the tech van, parked in the shade of an old tree. Its rear doors were open while a few mercenaries stood outside, keeping watch. A satellite dish was on the roof of the van, providing the means of communications that the tech geeks inside could use to communicate with the mercenary teams.

"We can't just leave it here," Samuel said. The prawnling seemed to chirp with agreement, nodding its head. Lukas didn't think it could understand what they were saying…at least, this was what he had been thinking up until now.

"Sure we can," Lukas replied before beginning to walk. He added as he walked: "I'm sure it has parents who live around here. No reason for us to abduct their kid. I doubt they would be very happy if we did. They might even try coming after us and then maybe those pissed off parents will try and rip our throats out."

Samuel had no other option but to follow the engineer, turning around and leaving the young prawn standing in the wake of their footsteps.

Lukas tried to ignore the fact that the prawnling was following them, able to hear its short quick footfalls that scraped in the dirt. It chirped again as the pair of humans neared the parked tech van, stopping a short distance behind them as the trio of mercenaries on guard outside gave it a few distinct looks of interest.

"This one bothering you?" One of the mercenaries, a chubby Afrikaner sounding guy, asked.

Samuel shook his head. Lukas, on the other hand, saw the few boxes sitting nearby that contained dozens of cans of cheap cat food. These boxes had been brought along primarily to be used to keep unwanted prawns away. Lukas figured that the annoying prawnling could be classed as "unwanted" and so proceeded to free up his hands first by handing the alien weapon to the chubby South African mercenary before tearing open one of the boxes.

"It's kind of cute, ain't it?" Samuel asked, directing his question to the South African mercenary. The name tag on the mercenary's vest read "GODFRIED".

"Uh…" The mercenary seemed to consider the notion for a moment, still trying to work out what he was supposed to do with the big alien gun he had just been handed.

The prawnling had approached the humans and emitted another chirp. By now Lukas had pulled a can of cheap cat food out of the box on top of the stack and was having some trouble in opening it. For one he couldn't get his fingers underneath the ring-pull on top of the can, trying his best to lift it up but finding that this often simple task had suddenly increased in difficulty.

He fed his cat Tibbits some days and he had no trouble opening cans of cat food in order to feed the moggie. This particular can that he held here and now was certainly proving to be an absolute nuisance.

"I thought you said we shouldn't feed it?" Samuel asked, noticing Lukas' hurried efforts to get the can open.

"I'm not feeding it, I'm getting rid of it," Lukas replied. The prawnling had started towards him again, chirping in a manner that Samuel seemed to find cute. Part of Lukas wanted to pet the young prawn like he did to his cat but part of him was repulsed by the idea.

Before he could get the can open the prawnling had, with surprising tenacity, jumped up on its powerful legs. It dug its claws into Lukas' vest, perching its nimble frame onto his shoulder. Lukas could smell it now, the smell of months without washing while simultaneously living in its own filth. He almost gagged but managed to keep his breakfast in, preferring to get the pesky prawn off of his shoulder before it scratched him and probably gave him some sort of infection from its dirty claws.

The mercenaries were laughing and so was Samuel. Lukas used one elbow to knock the prawn aside, sending it falling into the dirt where it landed with a dull _smack!_ The prawnling seemed to be fine though, quickly getting back onto its feet and chirping in an annoyed manner.

"That was just harsh, man," Samuel said, shaking his head. The other mercenaries were still laughing.

Lukas felt only slightly embarrassed. He hadn't been expecting to suddenly get assaulted by some pesky prawn that seemed to have taken a liking for him. The prawn in question was looking at him with wide kitten-like eyes, the type that could melt someone's heart. Lukas was too pissed off to notice, finally managing to pull open the can of cat foot. The smell seemed to get the prawnling's attention almost instantly, the creature sniffing the air while its feelers wriggled involuntarily.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like this," Lukas said, still annoyed at what had just happened and looking forward to getting rid of the annoying creature. He threw the can some distance and the prawnling's gaze followed it as the can arced through the air. The can landed about ten metres away, clanking down amongst a pile of discarded corrugated iron sheeting.

The prawnling started after the can with an amazing pace for its size, pouncing upon the partially dented can of cat food. It picked up the can with one pint-sized claw and dug into the gooey mess with another, hurriedly stuffing the cat food into its mouth. Obviously this young prawn had been exposed to enough of the stuff to be quite addicted to it, just like most of the other prawns were.

Samuel had been watching with a careful gaze, trying to work out if Lukas disliked the prawn or not.

"It'll be back," Samuel said, grinning again, "and I bet it'll come straight for you."

Lukas didn't know what to think. A young prawn had a liking for him…It wouldn't be such a big deal if it didn't embarrass him in front of some of the mercenaries. The big guy, Godfried, seemed to be laughing it up still even when the joke was long over. Lukas stepped over to him and snatched the alien gun out of his hands, thinking that he should take it to the technicians seated inside the van.

"Yeah, laugh it up arse-hole," Lukas said. He shook his head again and headed into the tech van, hoping to get out of sight before the prawnling made a comeback. Godfried managed an annoyed gaze towards the engineer but otherwise didn't do much else, thinking that beating up an engineer just wouldn't be worth the time.

Meanwhile, the prawnling continued to eat. Regardless of what had happened, it still liked the smell of that particular human. And it would be back, although a quick glance over to where the human had been before revealed that he had gone. Still, the young prawnling figured that it could find the human again. It was only a matter of finding the right scent.


	16. Captive

**Captive  
**District 9, Johannesburg  
June 11th, 2013  
1040 Hours

He had been apprehended. Why they had done this he couldn't be sure but what he was sure about was that MNU wouldn't be treating him all that well. The human corporation wasn't exactly well known for the way it treated any extraterrestrials it took captive, thus Vincent Matheson was trying to work out a means of escape. Even for a young, strong and agile prawn like him he had his doubts as to his success.

His leg still bled profusely from where he had taken a bullet. It hurt phenomenally but he managed to hold in any shouts or grunts, trying his best to stem the blood flow. It occurred to him that if he didn't stop bleeding soon he might die; this was a thought that did not appeal to him at all. Even now a steady trickle of dark, thick blood was oozing out of the jagged wound and down his right leg.

He and Linda had been forcefully dragged out of the shanty and escorted to a large MNU armoured personnel carrier (or APC for short). It was the sort that Vincent had seen numerous times before, the vehicles having been used to carry MNU mercenaries and personnel in and out of the district when necessary. There had been many of them driving around during the eviction operation that had occurred a few years ago and one of them had carried the humans that had gunned down his father.

Vincent had been pushed into the passenger section of the APC and his hands had been tied up to a rather strong steel hand-hold inside, effectively limiting the movement of his hands. His legs had been bound together at the ankles with some rather strong rope as well, thus preventing him from using his arms or legs to aid him in escaping. Across from him sat Linda, much in the same position as him. She was looking down at the floor, trying to work out why she had been dragged along. She certainly seemed rather withdrawn, probably having not expected this to happen to her.

Vincent felt guilty about how she had become involved. He was the one MNU was after, not Linda. Sure, he might have severed his ties with the insurgent groups some months ago but MNU obviously didn't know this. They had probably figured out that if they were to crackdown on these groups they could use Vincent as a means to do this. He still knew where the insurgent groups operated, he still knew who operated them and he still knew how to contact them. In fact, MNU could get a lot of information out of him if they tried. Vincent doubted he could withstand much torture and he was rather certain that MNU would kill him anyway. If he didn't talk they would kill him and if he did talk they would kill him after he was no longer of use to them. It was a no-win situation, this being the sort of situation that Vincent didn't really like. He hadn't had much to do with MNU in his lifetime but it seemed now they were genuinely interested in him, as if the years he spent trying to keep out of their sight had been spent in vain. They knew about him…somehow. He wouldn't be surprised if most of the other prawns he knew who lived in District 9 were informing on him in exchange for food.

The rear doors of the APC slammed shut shortly after he and Linda were herded into the back. Sunlight streamed into the passenger section through the few narrow windows set in the sides of the APC, providing some illumination. About three mercenaries sat at the other end of the passenger section, all three of them young males. One of them was a dark-skinned guy and he seemed to be in charge of the group, speaking into a radio attached to one shoulder of his vest and relaying the orders to the other two mercenaries. They were speaking in hushed voices but Vincent could make out some of what the humans were discussing.

"The Colonel says we have to bring that prawn back to the headquarters for interrogation," the dark-skinned mercenary said, "He doesn't want any problems during the trip. The woman, on the other hand, is to be passed over to the local authorities once we're in town. However, she is our concern until then."

The other two mercenaries nodded in acknowledgement. Neither of the trio seemed genuinely interested in the two captives, preferring to ignore their presences unless absolutely necessary. Vincent didn't mind this arrangement, thinking that it would give him the chance to plan out some sort of escape.

The driver of the APC started the engines and the vehicle began to rumble along at a steady pace, following the winding roads that went through the district. If there was going to be any attempt at escape Vincent knew it would have to be carried out before they were within the city. This probably left them with twenty minutes, maybe a little more depending on the driver and how much of a hurry he was in. He didn't seem to be too concerned with delivering the two captives, driving at a casual rate and taking in the surroundings ahead of them through the front windscreen. He even flicked a switch on the CD player in the dashboard and some old sounding human music started playing.

"_Love…is a burning thing…and it makes…a fiery ring/ Bound by wild desire…I fell into a RING OF FIRE…"_

Vincent had never really heard much in the way of this thing the humans called "music". To him it sounded like a bunch of disorganized noises put together to form only a slight cohesiveness. He didn't mind it, just as long as it wasn't too loud. The driver seemed to be humming along with the tune though, obviously enjoying it.

"_I fell into a burning ring of fire…I went down, down, down and the flames went higher…and it burns, burns, burns…the ring of fire…the ring of fire…"_

Vincent sat and listened carefully to the words of the song, thinking that strangely enough they sort of related to his current situation. At least, he thought they did.

"Vincent?"

The prawn looked up, noticing that Linda was looking at him with a worried gaze. Vincent could only share what she felt, feeling somewhat worried himself. What would happen to her? Would she been thrown into prison simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Vincent didn't want to think about it. Once again he felt absolutely guilt-ridden, unable to not think that it had been his fault that had gotten Linda involved.

"I want you to tell me the truth," Linda said, her tone serious but the look on her face giving away the fears she was feeling.

"The truth about what?" Vincent clicked, slightly confused. He wasn't too sure what was coming but was thankful that Linda wasn't ignoring him. He had thought that she would be apprehensive towards him for having her dragged into all of this, effectively ending their relationship but this didn't seem to be the case.

"The terrorist groups," Linda replied, "I thought I told you not to get involved…"

"I did as you said," Vincent replied, his tone defensive, "I severed my ties with them."

"Then why the hell have we been arrested?" Linda's voice took on an angry tone. Vincent reeled back in his seat slightly, unprepared for the woman's sudden change in emotion. Her angered voice only strengthened the near overwhelming guilt he already felt.

"I don't know…Maybe they think I'm still with the terrorists?" Vincent suggested. He was telling the truth: just as she had said he had severed his involvement with the prawn rebel groups. The word "terrorist" seemed far too harsh a word but he found himself using it anyway, primarily because Linda had used it.

"And why would they think that?"

"I don't know," Vincent said. Linda looked at him with a wide angry gaze, the sort that only made him want to back away into some hole somewhere and probably die. He felt so guilty, so vulnerable…and the love of his life was talking to him in a way that made him feel like shit.

It seemed just when his life had been finally improving some higher power decided that enough was enough and so threw this crap into his face. The same morning that he and Linda had finally admitted the liking they had and they both get arrested. Now Linda was angry, presumably because she felt that she had no reason to be here. That was probably the truth.

"Do you have anything…anything they could use to link you to the terrorist groups?" Linda asked, leaning forwards, her gaze seeming to bore straight into the prawn's inner self. Vincent averted his gaze from her eyes, finding that there was an unnerving rage visible in those striking brown eyes of her. It made him feel uneasy, unnerved even.

"Uh…" Vincent chirped uncertainly. He remembered the single prawn weapon one of his friends in the insurgent group had given him as a sort of "going away gift". It had been customized slightly since his friend had believed that a gift wasn't worth anything unless it was constructed by the giver of the gift. Sure, no one could construct alien guns so Vincent's friend had made sure to take the time to construct what the humans called a "telescopic sight", using pieces found from human weapons to make a fairly effective addition to an already effective weapon. Vincent had stored it away in a small cupboard in his shack's bedroom and had since forgotten about it, having never needed to use it.

"There is, isn't there?" Linda could tell from the prawn's lack of an immediate answer that there was indeed something to be worried about.

Vincent didn't reply. He didn't _want_ to reply and so let Linda work out the answer herself.

"We're both fucked, you do realize that?" She said, delivering a profanity that she very rarely used. Thus, Vincent could tell that this was one really serious situation the pair found themselves in.

"They're going to dissect you while I rot in a prison cell somewhere," she continued, her tone still one of sheer anger, "Do you want to become some sort of medical experiment? Sure, MNU might say that stopped doing that sort of thing…but truthfully, I think they're full of shit. I can't believe I actually let you…let you…" She shook her head, squirming where she sat. "I feel like such a whore."

Vincent felt a bit insulted when he heard this. He could tell that she was angry, he just didn't like it when she actually attacked the relationship they had. Sure, it was the sort that was uncommon…but not unheard of.

"If we get out of this one, it'll be a fucking miracle," she added, the doubt evident in her voice. Vincent thought that she seemed to be quite the pessimist.

Vincent, reeling from guilt and feeling rather annoyed at the human woman after all they had done together, pulled on the ropes that bound his hands to the metal hand-hold behind him. The hand-hold didn't budge, securely bolted into the wall. It seemed it had been built for the sole purpose of providing a near unbreakable object to tie prisoners to, presumably to counteract a prawn's strength. Prawns were considerably stronger than humans, hence the reason Vincent had had no trouble in throwing aside the mercenaries that had set upon him earlier.

"I'll get us out of this," Vincent said, "or, at the very least, I'll get _you_ out of this."

Linda raised an eyebrow, perplexed as to what Vincent meant.

"What do you mean?" She asked.

"I mean that I'm going to try and help you to escape," Vincent said. He was still thinking about how he could possibly do this but he was sure he would come up with something soon enough.

"It doesn't matter what happens to me, just as long as you get out," Vincent continued, flexing the ropes that tied his clawed hands together. They were fairly tight and would be more than enough to keep him immobilized. He needed another approach, one that didn't simply involve breaking free of the coils of rope that bound him.

"You're such a romantic, you know that?" Linda said sarcastically, "seriously, take a look around you. Even if you somehow get free of your ropes there are three heavily armed mercenaries to deal with. And then there's the driver. I doubt he'll simply pull over and let us out if we manage to take care of the mercs…"

"And could you two just SHUT THE FUCK UP?" The African mercenary shouted, shooting the pair an annoyed glance. "The last thing I want to hear are you two pricks bickering!"

"I have a plan," Vincent said determinedly. In fact, he had no plan. He had no idea how he could escape. He knew he would have to act before the APC found its way into the city, thus they probably only had fifteen minutes before they were within Johannesburg and amongst human civilization.

"I'm sure you do," Linda replied. She certainly seemed disheartened and somewhat resigned to their fate. Vincent wasn't about to just give up though.

He looked towards the three disgruntled mercenaries while he flexed the ropes at his wrists again. The mercenaries had been clever enough to tie the rope more than once around his wrists, ensuring that even if Vincent was strong enough to break the rope (and he was pretty certain he was) there was no way he could break through _that_ much of it. He could barely move his hands and to top it off they were tied to a metal hand-hold behind him.

He noticed the crate of cat food cans under the seats near the mercenaries. It wasn't a surprise to see the crate here since MNU would often give their mercenaries cat food as a means of getting rid of unwanted prawns (toss a few cans their way and watch them fight over it). Vincent felt a craving for some upon resting his gaze upon the crate, recognizing the cartoon cat face that was on every can. It smiled stupidly at him, as if teasing him to come and get some.

Would the mercenaries give him some? Vincent had the first indication of an actual scheme forming in his mind. He wasn't too sure how he would go about it but all he needed was some cat food…if only to satisfy his cravings for the stuff.

"Hey," Vincent chirped loudly, looking towards the three mercenaries. They all looked up, their quiet conversation interrupted. Neither seemed very interested in hearing what the prawn had to say although the dark-skinned mercenary was the one to reply.

"What do you want, ugly?" He asked, "Even better, how about you just shut the fuck up?"

Vincent ignored the latter question, getting straight to the point. Linda watched him through a resigned gaze, trying to work out what he was doing. She didn't seem too interested, probably deep in her own thoughts and trying to work out how she could have gotten dragged into all of this.

"I'm hungry," Vincent replied, "I want some cat food…"

The dark-skinned mercenary laughed. His two mercenary friends joined in immediately, the three of them chuckling heartily while Vincent sat with a perplexed look across his alien features.

"Oh, you want some cat food?" The dark-skinned human said mockingly. The only thing Vincent did was nod in response, trying to work out what it was that the mercenaries found so amusing.

"Alright ugly, you can have some," the mercenary said, "but don't try anything funny, otherwise I'll blow your fucking balls off." He slapped a hand on the pistol he had holstered at his waist to emphasize this point.

Vincent only shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the thought of his balls being blown off. He watched as the mercenary tore open the box of cat food cans and pulled one from it, tossing it towards Vincent. It landed in his lap, the prawn having to catch it in between his legs.

"How am I supposed to eat when my hands are tied?" Vincent asked.

This got the mercenary laughing again. He stood up, using the holds on the ceiling to keep his balance within the moving APC as he made his way towards where Vincent sat. He looked upon the prawn in a condescending manner while Linda watched on with some interest. He snatched the can of cat food out of Vincent's lap, holding it inches from the prawn's face in a mocking fashion.

Vincent resisted the urge to lash out as the mercenary proceeded to wriggle the can about inches from his face, laughing as he did so. Vincent could only growl in annoyance, left to put up with this human's taunting.

"Hey, ugly, you want this?" The mercenary asked, laughing and glancing over at his two mercenary friends who laughed as well. Vincent stopped growling, taking in all his options. It seemed best to just play along, regardless of how badly he wanted the cat food.

"Yes, I want it," Vincent replied.

The mercenary stopped laughing and considered this for a moment. He pulled open the can using the ring-pull on its top, the stench of gooey casserole style cat food finding its way to Vincent's scent receptors. The prawn held back the urge to jump (or at least try to) out of his seat, remembering the ropes that bound him as well as any sort of humiliation that would come with such a futile gesture. Linda was watching him carefully but was yet to say anything, thinking that maybe the prawn _did_ have a plan. Or that Vincent really wanted some cat food. Either way, she wanted to wait and see what happened.

"I'm going to untie one of your hands," the mercenary said, "just _one_. That way you can eat. Don't know why you would want to eat this shit, though. It smells fucking terrible." He then nodded towards the two other mercenaries, both of whom immediately brought up their rifles and trained them on Vincent. The prawn didn't move, taking in this development while thinking over how he would do this.

The mercenary reached around him and carefully untied one of Vincent's hands from the metal hand-hold in the wall behind him. Vincent flexed his free hand and brought it in front of him, grabbing the can of cat food off of the mercenary. As soon as he did so the mercenary took a step back, bringing out his pistol and aiming it at the prawn.

Vincent rested the can in his lap and used his one free hand to eat the gooey, smelly contents slowly. Linda shook her head when she saw this and Vincent only felt a little guilty, realizing that once again he had gone against her wishes in regards to eating cat food. It was bad for his kind apparently; this much was evident in the headaches and mild euphoria that it gave him.

Outside the APC drove through the slums of District 9, receiving the occasional off-glance from the few prawns that were out on the streets. The driver steered the APC onto a proper tarmac road, one that went out of the district and towards inner Johannesburg. There was music still playing although the song had changed by now.

Vincent finished eating the chicken and beef made-for-cats casserole that had been within the can, using the sleeve of his jacket on his free arm to wipe the residue away from that had gathered on the tentacles above his mouth. The mercenary still stood in front of him, pistol drawn while his head was bent forwards in order to avoid hitting it on the ceiling. The APC trundled along, bouncing along a pothole that shook all the occupants rather suddenly and forcefully. Vincent felt what he had just eaten lurch in his stomach, the possibility of puking increasing significantly.

"I'm finished," Vincent said, holding up the empty can with his free hand. His gaze met with Linda's then and there. She seemed to shake her head, thinking that maybe trying to escape would only make their situation worse. Vincent disagreed with this.

He was contemplating his next move when the mercenary stepped forward, presumably to tie Vincent's right hand back behind him.

"Don't expect anymore," the mercenary said, lowering his pistol as he approached, "Your breath already smells bad enough without adding more to it…"

There was an opening in the mercenary's movements, one that Vincent knew he could take advantage of. It was a long shot and he had two other mercenaries to deal with, both of whom had their rifles trained on him.

In one quick and fluid motion Vincent brought up the can of cat food, plunging it straight into the mercenary's throat as he went to lean around the prawn and gain access to the ropes. Vincent used his superior prawn strength to hit the empty can home, hearing the tearing of flesh and a surprised gasp as the mercenary stumbled backwards, his eyes wide.

Linda managed a shout, one that was a cross between mere noise and profanity as the mercenary began to fall. The cat food can was about halfway into his throat, red blood oozing from the sides while the mercenary gargled loudly. Vincent grabbed the falling mercenary and began to act purely on instinct and impulse than on careful thinking.

The two mercenaries seated further down the APC opened fire. Linda put her head down low as bullets flew, the gunfire echoing loudly throughout the APC's interior. Vincent placed the falling mercenary between himself and the rifle fire, able to feel the bullets impact into the mercenary and cause the human body to jolt and convulse involuntarily. If the mercenary with the empty cat food can stuck in his throat had been still alive he was now most certainly dead.

Still the other two mercenaries kept firing while the driver swore loudly, trying to keep his concentration on the road ahead while simultaneously trying to work out what was going on behind him. Chunks of the dead mercenary that Vincent still gripped blew away in bloody red explosions, part of the mercenary's head disappearing into a bloody mess as a few rounds impacted it. Human blood sprayed into Vincent's face and the prawn only blinked, keeping the dead mercenary between him and the two overzealous rifle toting mercenaries as he planned his next move. He was dimly aware of Linda screaming at him to stop but he ignored her, keeping his concentration on his current situation.

The dead mercenary still clutched the Beretta 9mm pistol and so Vincent pried it from the mercenary's stiff fingers, bringing the weapon into his free hand before pointing it towards the other two mercenaries. Both tried to adjust their aim to actually hit the prawn but Vincent was much faster on the trigger, pulling the one on the Beretta pistol several times.

He felt the pistol recoil slightly after each shot but he was able to keep it held steady. The first round caught the mercenary on the left in the Kevlar vest and he grunted painfully. The next round blew a sizeable portion of his face away and splattered his brains onto the wall behind him, followed by plenty of blood and some fragments of bone. The other mercenary managed to fire off a single shot, the round tearing into the hardened plates at Vincent's left shoulder.

The prawn squeaked painfully, able to feel the hot stinging sensation as the bullet blasted a small part of his exoskeleton's plating at his shoulder away. He didn't spend much time worrying about the wound and instead adjusted his aim with the Beretta, firing three more rounds. The first hit the second mercenary in the Kevlar vest at the stomach area, causing him to buckle backwards and grunt. The second hit the mercenary in the throat, a geyser of blood erupting forth from the torn jugular. The third and final round hit him right between the eyes, blood splattering onto the wall behind him to form a sickening splotch of colour within the APC's grey interior.

Vincent released the dead mercenary who he had been using as a shield, letting the human's bloodied and bullet ridden corpse collapse into a heap at his feet. Vincent didn't waste anytime in using his one free hand to untie his other one before untying the ropes that were at his legs. When they were finally gone he took a moment to stretch, shifting his gaze towards Linda as he did so.

She was covering her ears, still reeling from the shots that had been fired. Vincent stood up, having to bend over within the APC's low confines before stepping over to the woman. Standing up reminded him of the bullet wound he had received from the sniper earlier, his left leg erupting in pain as he put too much weight on it. He hobbled over to Linda and shook her out of her fear-induced daze, bringing her head up so that they were looking into each other's eyes.

"You killed them!" She shouted, almost hysterical, "You fucking prawn! You killed them! You fucking killed them…"

Vincent suddenly remembered that the driver was still in business. He was reminded of the driver's existence when a loud _bang_ erupted from up the front of the vehicle, several shotgun pellets slamming into the wall near him. He shifted his gaze to the front of the APC and saw that the driver had taken his hands off of the steering wheel and was now handling a combat shotgun, one that was fitted with a drum magazine. He had a crazed look on his features.

"I'll kill you, you stupid fuck!" He shouted, having seemingly forgotten about what was on the road ahead.

Vincent swivelled where he stood as he brought up the Beretta pistol, firing two shots. Both of them hit the driver in the head and blew the contents of it all over the front windscreen, effectively obscuring the view of the road. The driver slumped in his seat and his foot fell upon the accelerator, the speed of the APC suddenly increasing as a result.

Vincent lowered the Beretta pistol and untied Linda, grabbing her by one arm as he started for the rear of the vehicle. It didn't take much to find the mechanism that opened the rear doors and he pulled it, both doors swinging open and revealing the road behind. The APC sped along uncontrolled, oncoming traffic forced to swerve out of its way. Angry drivers honked their horns as the APC started to angle its way off of the road.

Vincent didn't bother talking some sense into Linda. Instead, he jumped from the rear of the APC while holding her close and the two of them hit the warm sun-drenched tarmac rather painfully. Both of them rolled a fair distance before going off of the edge of the road and landing in a ditch filled with dry prickly grass. Vincent's leg wound and his shoulder wound screamed out in pain but he kept a straight face, doing his best to ignore both injuries.

The APC continued off of the road and slammed into a shanty, taking the whole flimsy metal structure down in one loud _slam!_ A thick column of dust arouse in the wake of the APC as it demolished the shanty before bouncing over a slight rise in the ground. The rise sent the APC rolling and the large armoured vehicle continued to roll for some distance, finally coming to a halt about twenty metres from where it had begun its roll. It clanked and clanged as it went, the windows breaking while the corpses inside thumped about.

Vincent slowly rose to his feet, limping on his wounded right leg. His bloodied left shoulder still stung a fair bit, the injury now clogged with dirt and God only knew what else. He figured he would need to wash it soon to avoid getting an infection, although right now this was the least of his worries. Right now he had a pissed off a human woman who was now scrambling to get away from him. She was yelling mostly incoherent things as she rose to her feet and started out of the ditch.

Sure, Vincent had just killed four humans but he didn't see the big deal. In fact, he felt somewhat pleased with the result since not even he had been expecting to get out of it alive. For once something somewhat exciting had occurred in Vincent's life and he didn't feel at all guilty about what he had just done. Besides, those MNU pricks killed fellow prawns on a regular basis. Why couldn't he return the favour and kill a few humans?

"You're a fucking crazy shit, you know that?" Linda was almost hysterical. "I never asked to get involved…"

"But you are now," Vincent said. Linda tried to run away, almost bawling her eyes out as she did so but the prawn grabbed her left arm and hoisted her back to him.

"Let me go!" She screamed, trying to push away. Vincent had no trouble holding her close, giving her a mere look of pity. _She should see herself now_, he thought, _she's gone completely crazy_.

"Calm down," Vincent chirped, shaking the woman thoroughly. They stood in a road-side ditch in the hot Johannesburg sun, the occasional car driving past but otherwise they were the only ones out here.

"Calm down?" Linda panted, shaking her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the sunlight glistening off of them, "Calm down?! How do you expect me to do that when you just murdered four men! FOUR! I didn't think you were such a cold-blooded killer, Vincent! I thought you were different!"

"I am different," Vincent said defensively. He had just saved her from getting thrown into prison and this was the thanks he got?

"You're no better than MNU," Linda said, her tone one that only disheartened the prawn, "You're a murderer, just like those mercenaries. You're…"

"Shut up and listen," Vincent said, trying to hold back his anger. What good would it do to take it out on Linda? She hadn't been meant to be dragged into this. It was him MNU were after, not her. Still, she was in it now and chances are she wouldn't be able to get out of it very easily.

"Either you're going to stick with me and help me out," Vincent said, delivering it coldly and sternly, "or I'm going to leave you here so MNU can find you. What's it going to be? You're in this now and chances are MNU isn't going to let you go. I don't think you want to spend the rest of your life in a cell somewhere. I, on the other hand, haven't got much of a choice. It's either run or end up as some sort of MNU medical experiment…"

Linda shook her head, still unable to quite believe what was happening. Already Vincent was forming a plan in his head, one that involved heading to District 10 and finding the friends he had in the insurgent groups there. They needed to be warned about MNU's crackdown operation before they themselves were arrested. There was one in particular Vincent knew he had to find, one that MNU would no doubt be damned interested in finding...

Vincent could understand Linda's near hysterical state. She had just watched him kill four humans in cold blood and was now demanding that she follow him. Why would she want to follow a killer like him? The thing that worried the prawn the most was that he had enjoyed killing the human mercenaries. Maybe it stemmed from having seen his own father gunned down by similar mercenaries, some sort of inner hatred for MNU having only just been revealed now.

The distant sound of helicopter blades caught the prawn's attention. He looked up, able to see that there was indeed a helicopter headed in their general direction. It was some distance away but another few minutes and it would be right above them, probably coming to check out the APC crash. Vincent realized that the time for Linda to make her choice was now, thus he grabbed her at the shoulders and turned her to face him.

"What's it going to be, Linda?" He asked.

The human didn't seem so high-strung anymore, having calmed down noticeably. She looked into Vincent's eyes and once again the prawn was taken by the beauty of them, if only momentarily. There were other things on his mind.

"I'll…I'll come with you," she said.


	17. Regrouping

**Regrouping  
**District 9, Johannesburg  
June 11th, 2013  
1100 Hours

Lukas Farber sat on a short stone wall that was covered with all sorts of graffiti, the tech van parked only a few metres behind. Samuel and Will were seated with him, as were a few of the other mercenaries. They had been seated here for the last half an hour, left to wait around while Colonel Keller and the mercenaries with him searched Vincent Matheson's shack for further evidence that would link the prawn to insurgent groups.

Above the dry Johannesburg sun bore down upon the district. There were a few high altitude wispy clouds scattered across the blue sky but otherwise the sun was the only notable feature. The air was warm and dry while a gentle breeze billowed its way through the district, causing loosened items to rattle amongst the backdrop of near silence. Samuel was listening to an MP3 player, nodding his head along with the music. Will was flicking through the day's newspaper, having found this particularly paper inside the tech van.

Some distance away the annoying young prawnling was busy trying to open another can of cat food, its small nimble claws having trouble with the ring pull mechanism. Lukas watched it carefully, thinking that the unopened can should keep it preoccupied for a while. He was hoping he and the team would be leaving before it was done, otherwise the pesky creature will come straight back over to him and proceed to climb all over him. He wasn't too fond of the smelly alien, even if it had taken an obvious liking to him. Even some of the mercenaries had started joking about it much to Lukas' chagrin.

Inside the tech van one of the technicians mulled over the alien weapon that had been recovered from Vincent Matheson's shack. Apparently this weapon had been fixed with a few attachments, the telescopic sight the most obvious one. It seemed that the prawn it belonged to had a knack for making things from spare parts, unless of course this was from whoever had given him the weapon. Now the oversized black metal gun lay in a locked cabin within the tech van, presumably to be taken back to MNU headquarters and mulled over more thoroughly by the engineers there. Lukas had taken a look at it and hadn't been able to discern anything new. In fact, it was the same situation as usual: they had access to an alien weapon but had no way to operate it, thanks to the DNA encoding that all prawn technology seemed to have.

Lukas watched as the MNU helicopter that had been keeping watch on the operation from above started to fly away, the chopping sound of its blades growing fainter as it flew further. Something must have happened, Lukas figured, for it to start flying off like that. He couldn't immediately come up with any possible scenarios though, thinking that whatever was going on it was probably just a typical District 9 occurrence. Shootouts with the Nigerians wouldn't be uncommon, nor would trouble with disgruntled prawns.

As far as Lukas knew it seemed that the prawn known as Vincent Matheson did have links to insurgent groups. Not only that but he seemed to be an avid reader as highlighted by the Colonel earlier, the prawn keeping a large amount of books and newspapers inside its dwelling. This was somewhat uncommon since most prawns didn't have any clue as to how to read, let alone write. The notes that had been found with Vincent's customized alien gun had been written in a rather messy but discernible form of handwriting, hinting that there was a prawn out there that actually knew how to write. The Colonel hadn't said much about them, perhaps with the intention of keeping whatever information was on the notes to himself. This only furthered Lukas' uncertainty towards the whole operation and increased his doubt as to why he was here.

A healthy promotion to "field engineer" meant more interesting work and better pay, however there were still many things that didn't quite add up. The sheer short notice of the formation of this anti alien terrorism team was one, as well as the way the Colonel seemed to know more about the situation than he was letting on. Lukas could tell this whenever he looked at the Colonel. He wondered if anyone else noticed it but if they did they weren't saying anything about it. This was probably for the best since questioning Colonel Keller's motives didn't seem like a very good idea.

Now to top things off Lukas was stuck hanging around some mostly derelict slums, being pestered by some annoying young prawn that seemed to be fixated with him. The engineer kept the box of cat food cans close at hand, just in case he needed something else to stave off the prawnling's further attempts of forming some sort of friendship. What was he, some sort of alien magnet?

He took a can from the box and surveyed the label. It was cheap stuff, nowhere near the quality of the brand that he fed the family cat back at home. There was a stupidly smiling cartoon cat on the label, one that seemed to be licking its lips in anticipation of eating whatever was inside. "Beef and chicken casserole" was the flavour of the food in this particular can. In other words, it was mostly chunks of smelly and chewy meat in brown gooey gravy. Why it appealed to the aliens so much was beyond him. Why it appealed to cats was also beyond him, but he guessed that felines had different tastes to humans.

"Hey, Lukas, I think your friend's coming back," Samuel commented. Lukas raised his gaze from the can and peered towards the prawnling, noticing that it was making its way back towards them. The big mercenary, Godfried as his name tag read, watched with some amusement.

"Get out of here," Lukas said bluntly, tossing the can at the prawn. The alien stumbled backwards in some fright as the can landed a short distance in front of it. It chirped with annoyance as it realized that there was no threat to its safety, carefully taking up the can in its smell claws before getting to work on the ring-pull mechanism on the top of the can.

"Don't be so harsh on it, man," Samuel said, "Like I said, I think it's kinda cute…"

Lukas shrugged. Was it cute? He couldn't tell. It certainly wasn't as cute as say, a cat or a dog. There was something about its hazel eyes though, there was that puppy dog look to them that could have melted anyone's heart.

Godfried overhead the exchange and looked up, his hand tapping the butt of the pistol he held in his holster. He shifted his gaze from the prawnling to the two humans, considering his options.

"You want me to get rid of it?" He asked.

It took Lukas a moment to work out what he was implying. Without any delay the mercenary had taken out his sidearm and was levelling the aim towards the prawnling. The creature was oblivious to the threat, either having not noticed or with no idea as to what a gun actually did. It was still busy opening the can, chirping excitedly as it finally managed to tear open the top.

"What are you doing?" Lukas asked, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. Why he cared so much was beyond him but the question seemed to make Godfried waver in a moment. Still, he fired the pistol and the gunshot echoed throughout the neighbourhood.

Lukas lunged at him more on impulse than on clear determination. He knocked the somewhat chubby mercenary aside, the pistol being sent flying from his grip before landing in the dirt nearby. Both men fell over the short stone wall, Lukas landing on top of a surprised looking Godfried.

The prawnling, meanwhile, reeled backwards in surprise and chirped loudly. Lukas had no idea as to what damage had been done nor was he quite prepared for just how much he actually _cared_ about the creature. Instead, he felt a near uncontrollable anger build inside of him as he looked down at Godfried and realized that the innocent young prawn might be dead. Why did he care so much? It was just a prawn after all…

"What the fuck are you doing?" Godfried asked, using his big hands to push Lukas off of him. The engineer landed in the dirt rather painfully, leaving him stunned while Godfried stood up and brushed himself down. The other mercenaries, Samuel and Will included, were watching the pair with some wide-eyed glances.

Godfried picked up his dropped pistol and proceeded to press the firing end against Lukas' temple. The engineer felt his heart skip a beat or two and a near overwhelming sense of fear envelop him. Godfried only looked a little flustered but his grip on the pistol was unwavering, the mercenary doing it more out of annoyance than anything else.

"You pull a stunt like that again, you shit, and I'll blow your brains out," Godfried said, his voice low, "and I'll make it look like the prawns did it. No skin off my teeth…"

Lukas composed himself, trying to ignore the cold of the metal gun barrel that was pressing somewhat painfully into his temple. He should have known better than to piss off a mercenary, they could be touchy sometimes. This was more so when someone they deemed "inferior" had managed to hurt their pride, such as an engineer.

Godfried removed the pistol barrel from Lukas' temple and released his grip on the engineer. He put the weapon back into its holster while Lukas carefully rose back onto his feet, brushing his uniform of the dirt that was clinging to it.

"Shit, Lukas, I didn't think you cared," Samuel commented as the engineer rose to his feet.

Godfried had walked off, proceeding to urinate behind one of the nearby derelict shacks. Lukas felt somewhat calmer now, thankful that the little encounter was over, even if _he_ had been the one to start it. He remembered the reason why and looked towards the prawnling, trying to work out why he did care so much.

The prawnling was limping, black blood oozing out of a wound at one of its skinny legs. The bullet had grazed a small section of the exoskeleton off and the creature was in no doubt a fair bit of pain. It had dropped the can of cat food and was trying its best to walk away, falling over after a few steps.

"It's hurt," Lukas said, more to himself than anyone else. He wasn't too sure on just what he should do about it, whether it was actually worth trying to help the creature or not. Then again, why would he not want to help it after he had effectively saved it from an untimely death? When he thought about it that way he felt strangely good about himself, even if he had just effectively made an enemy out of the mercenary Godfried. Maybe he cared more about the young prawn than he would have liked to think.

He stepped over the short wall and towards the prawnling, noticing that it seemed to be struggling in carrying out the simple act of walking. Lukas stopped just behind it, bending his knees so that he was level with the wounded creature. It turned around and looked at him with wide eyes, managing a weak chirp as it tried to limp away. No doubt it didn't think very highly of humans anymore after what had just happened.

"Come on," Lukas said, offering an open hand. He had a feeling he would regret helping it out some time in the future but he quelled that thought, instead forming a fairly reassuring smile towards the wounded creature. He noticed that Samuel, Will and the other mercenaries were watching with curious gazes.

The prawnling put one of its small nimble claws into Lukas' open hand, the cool hardened exoskeleton scratching against his skin. Lukas hoisted the creature up, holding it close to his chest and trying his best to ignore its rather repulsive smell. No doubt the prawnling had never washed itself, something that was understandable since there were no public bath facilities in District 9.

Lukas wasn't too sure on what he should do. He felt like an idiot walking around with a young prawn cradled in his arms like…like a cat, almost. It certainly wasn't the same sort of experience as holding a cat, especially since cats were much softer and had fur. Prawns, on the other hand, were hard and smelt sort of bad. At least cats cleaned themselves.

The prawnling seemed to like being in his arms, chirping happily. He tried to ignore the wide-eyed kitten-like gaze it gave him as he turned around, starting towards the tech van. He exchanged looks with Godfried who was returning from having just peed behind a nearby shack, noticing that the mercenary seemed somewhat annoyed at Lukas' sheer presence.

The prawnling was bleeding from its leg wound, thick black blood oozing out of the jagged fleshy wound before ending up on the front of Lukas' uniform. The engineer ignored it, instead bringing himself and the prawnling into the parked tech van.

The inside was relatively cool and well lit with computer screens and LEDs in the computer panels. A pair of bored looking young guys in MNU technician's uniforms sat at the end, one of them busy fiddling with a radio. He seemed to be trying to reach someone in particular, Lukas recognizing the call sign he was using as the one that applied to the APC that was carrying Vincent Matheson and the human woman Linda. Both men looked up as Lukas entered and both men's gazes went straight to the prawnling he was holding.

"Hey, Lukas man, you can't bring that in here," one of the technicians said, "It might break something…"  
"It's hurt," Lukas replied, feeling like an idiot. Here he was, standing with a prawnling cradled in his arms. No wonder he felt like an idiot. No one else would have bothered helping the prawnling, except maybe Samuel.

"So what? What if it pisses on a computer?" The technician decided to press his point. "There's millions of dollars worth of technology in this van…You can't just bring a prawn in here."

"Says who?"

"Says…uh…" The technician shrugged, exchanging glances with the other technician. They had no answer and as such Lukas could do what he wanted.

Lukas sat the prawnling down in one of the swivel chairs that were located near a bank of computers. The creature seemed to have forgotten that it was bleeding and instead seemed fascinated with the computer screens and the pretty little lights that blinked at the panels. Both technicians watched the prawnling carefully, expecting it to start fiddling and then break something. This didn't happen and instead the prawnling continued to watch the lights flash and displays on the computer screen change.

Lukas found the first aid kit attached to a wall nearby. He took it down, opened it up and found some antiseptic and bandages. Why he was doing this he couldn't be sure, but he was sure that he would feel better about himself afterwards. He could tell Katherine and no doubt she would be absolutely pleased with him. Lukas suddenly couldn't wait to get back home and tell her. He could call her now but that wouldn't have the same effect…He wanted to tell her face-to-face, that way she might let him…yes, it was a good plan and it gave him a reason to try his best in fixing up the prawnling's injury.

Lukas turned his attention to the prawnling and it looked up at him, somewhat fixated with the engineer. He tried to ignore the cute kitten-like gaze it gave him, instead concentrating on opening the vial of antiseptic liquid. The leg wound on the prawnling didn't look too nasty but he was fairly certain that it would get easily infected if the proper precautions weren't taken. After about a minute of fiddling with the childproof cap on the vial he finally got it open, the fumes of the liquid hitting his nostrils and in turn his eyes began to water a little.

"This might sting a little," Lukas said. The prawnling nodded, as if it understood him. He couldn't be sure if it did but he continued on with what he intended to do regardless, first putting some of the antiseptic liquid on a cotton bud before carefully rubbing the bud onto the jagged bleeding wound that was on the prawnling's left leg.

The creature writhed slightly, the wound no doubt stinging a fair bit. It managed to keep quiet though, as if trying to show Lukas just how brave it was. When that was done Lukas proceeded to wrap some lengths of bandages around its leg, ensuring that they didn't impede the prawnling's movements. Finally, with the basic first aid completed Lukas could finally smile about his handiwork. The prawnling seemed a little confused, as if it had been expecting more. It looked up at him expectantly, awaiting whatever else Lukas had planned. When the engineer didn't do anything it chirped in annoyance.

"What do you want?" Lukas asked, frowning. He had done all he could for the creature. Now it should just leave…unless, of course, it didn't want to leave. This much was evident in the way it seemed to have been hanging around him lately, fixated with Lukas Farber for some reason.

Lukas picked up the prawnling, figuring that it was best he let the creature go. It probably had parents somewhere but there was a chance that it didn't. Letting it go out on its own was probably a death sentence although it had managed to survive on its own so far.

Stepping back outside Lukas was met by the gazes of the mercenaries seated on the short stone wall, including Samuel and Will. Godfried seemed disinterested, returning his gaze to whatever he had been looking at earlier.

"I didn't think you cared," Samuel said.

Lukas lowered the prawnling to the ground, finally free of its weight and of having its smell pretty much in his face. The prawnling didn't wander off, rather it stayed by the engineer's side and chirped happily.

_Jesus, it just won't leave,_ Lukas thought. _And it probably never will leave now that I just helped it. Then again, I've always been a bit _too_ good to people._

Lukas prided himself on being a good man. It was strange how trying to be good and not a prick like Godfried or Keller could be difficult. Good people were always receiving crap from everyone else since the majority of the human population seemed to be taken up with not-so good people. Lukas had always been pushed around by others, especially mercenaries. He hadn't been surprised by Godfried's reaction now that he thought back on it.

The prawnling wasn't going to leave him alone now, that was for sure. He had pretty much told it that he cared about it, even if he still wasn't too sure about whether he actually did or not. Maybe he could take it home, he was sure his wife wouldn't mind. She was an activist anyway and the small prawnling…well, she would probably find it cute. It had sought him out and no one else, being fixated with him and none of the other humans. Was that telling him something, that maybe the prawns could see that deep down Lukas Farber was a good man? That he at least understood that they were being oppressed?

He was fairly certain taking the prawn home with him would get him in trouble. He was sure Katherine could find a home for it. Unless…the thought occurred to him then and there. He could take the prawnling with him to District 10, see if any of the prawns there would take it in. Conditions there would no doubt be still sup-par but superior to those here in District 9. Colonel Keller said they would be moving out to District 10 soon enough so Lukas could effectively get rid of the prawnling today. He didn't really want to keep it…nor did he really want to part with it. His mind was full of contradicting thoughts about the creature and he was completely unsure of what to do.

"I sort of care," Lukas finally replied, looking towards Samuel. The prawnling seemed to chirp in agreement and Lukas was now fairly certain it could understand them. How, he didn't know…maybe it did have parents, or at least a guardian here who had cared for it. Why it was out wandering around, fixated with the one human in particular was unknown.

"What are you going to do with it?" Will asked, looking at the prawnling and then at Lukas. He seemed genuinely interested and Lukas answered the mercenary's question carefully, thinking through the possibilities once more.

"I'm not leaving it here," Lukas said, thinking that this decision would undoubtedly give him trouble in the future. "I'm taking it with me when we go into District 10. Maybe one of the prawns there can look after it."

"Lukas, I see you've found a new friend!" A familiar voice exclaimed from somewhere to the engineer's left. Will had been about to reply before being beaten to it by the owner of this voice and so the mercenary shrank back where he sat, put off by the interruption.

Lukas shifted his gaze to where the familiar voice had come from. He saw Colonel Keller standing nearby, followed by Sarah, Kyle and three other mercenaries. Keller was smiling broadly as usual, looking down at the prawnling that stood at about Lukas' knee height before shifting his gaze back up at the engineer.

"Where'd you find it?" Keller asked.

Lukas didn't like the way the Colonel was looking at him. In fact, Lukas didn't like much about the Colonel and in his suddenly anxious state stammered the first few words out of his mouth.

"I…uh…it…it…" Lukas paused, trying to regain his composure. Colonel Keller frowned slightly although a hint of amusement played across his features. Sarah Taylor, who stood nearby with her rifle slung around one shoulder, seemed to eye the prawnling with a malevolent gaze.

"It came to me," Lukas replied, finally forming a cohesive sentence after a brief spout of anxiety. Why did Keller have this sort of effect on him? Maybe Lukas just didn't like the Colonel, something that wouldn't surprise him since there was something damn fishy about Colonel Keller.

"Came to you, huh?" Keller stepped forward as he asked this, his gaze shooting back down towards the prawnling. The creature retreated behind Lukas' legs, understandably fearful of the Colonel. This surprised Lukas a little since the prawnling had shown no real fear until now. Even when it had been shot it hadn't seemed very afraid.

"What do you intend to do with it?" Keller asked, "Hand it over to child services?"

Child services, at least for aliens, was definitely one way to get rid of the prawnling. Lukas didn't like the idea since those people at the extraterrestrial child services department were somewhat slack. They were rather incapable of actually taking care of young prawns, hence the reason most died while in their care. Some even disappeared mysteriously yet this sort of thing never found its way onto the evening news.

"I don't want it getting in the way," Keller added, sensing Lukas' apprehension towards the idea. "I don't care if you keep it as a damned pet, just don't let it get in the way of this operation."

"Like I was saying before you showed up, Colonel" Lukas said, "I was thinking of taking it with me when we go into District 10. There might be some prawns there who would be more than willing to look after it. The conditions over in District 10 are far better than they are here in District 9 from what I've heard…"

Keller nodded slowly, as if agreeing. The examining gaze he gave the now frightened prawnling didn't seem to change, even as he shifted it towards the mercenaries seated nearby.

"Speaking of District 10," Colonel Keller said, puffing on the cigar that he always seemed to have sticking out of the corner of his mouth, "We'll be moving out as soon as our transportation shows up." He checked the old style analogue watch he wore at his left wrist, frowning as he saw what the time was. "They're late, something that doesn't surprise me."

Lukas felt the prawnling tug tightly at one of his trouser legs. The engineer glanced down at the creature, seeing that there was some fear in those feline-like hazel eyes it had.

"We've got a lead to follow up on in District 10," Keller continued, "and it might even take us straight to whoever's running this insurgent business."

The prawnling continued to gaze up at Lukas, as if it was waiting for something. The engineer rolled his eyes, trying to work out what it could possibly want. Keller didn't seem to notice the exchange, keeping his attention on the mercenaries seated on the short stone wall.

"So, once our rides arrive we'll get going," Keller said, "It's a fair drive out there, but I'm sure you can handle it…"  
He was interrupted when the radio attached to the left corner of his vest crackled into life. Hermes Kossel's voice filtered through while sounding rather concerned.

"_Colonel Keller, it's Hermes,"_ the mercenary said, his voice slightly marred with static.

Keller frowned, flicking a switch on the radio in order to reply. The prawnling near Lukas watched with some fascination, trying to work out where the disembodied voice was coming from. Lukas could tell that something rather notable had happened, otherwise Hermes wouldn't be calling in.

"What is it?" Keller sounded uninterested, as if expecting it to be nothing.

"_Frans and I found the APC totalled just outside the district,"_ Hermes said carefully, perhaps fearing Keller's response, _"There were four bodies inside and signs of a struggle. The prawn, Vincent, and the woman seemed to have escaped…"  
_Lukas noticed a slight tic on the Colonel's face. It was only a slight twitching of the left eyebrow, nothing too noticeable. Lukas thought he was the only one who had actually noticed it. Keller's expression relaxed almost immediately and he delivered his response in a calm but stern voice.

"Notify headquarters and make sure they send some people out to search for the two escapees," Keller ordered, "and when you've done that report back to me. We're moving out to District 10 soon and the escaped prawn is the least of our worries."

"_Understood, Colonel."_

So the prawn, Vincent Matheson, had escaped along with that human woman? Lukas wasn't too surprised, especially since most of these MNU mercenaries weren't exactly bright. Putting three in the back of an APC with a potentially dangerous prawn had obviously not been an effective way to keep the prawn in check. He felt the prawnling tug at his trouser leg again and Lukas finally worked out what it wanted.

He stepped over to the box of cat food cans and removed one, opening it and handing it to the prawnling. Immediately it got started on eating, hastily chewing down on the gunky casserole mess.

Keller flicked the switch on his radio, ending the conversation. He then looked up at Lukas before looking down at the prawnling, taking in the two of them before shaking his head.

"My, ain't that just cute," he commented, watching the prawnling as it ate from the can of cat food, "It's even got a cat food addiction. It's like teenagers and marijuana…Only with aliens and cat food." He shook his head and Lukas could tell he found the only premise amusing. Lukas, on the other hand, didn't think much of it.

"Did the prawn escape, Colonel?" Will asked, looking up from the newspaper he had been reading.

Keller nodded.

"Yeah, he did," the Colonel replied, "but it ain't no big deal. Where's he going to go? We've already got District 9 locked down pretty tight…And District 10's two hundred miles through the countryside. He ain't got nowhere to go."

Lukas could only ponder whether this was true or not, even if the Colonel seemed to think so.


	18. Life in District 10 Part I

**Life in District 10  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1210 Hours

District 10 took up a sizeable section of the savannah near the Molopo River, appearing as a large mass of white tents and metal shelters that were walled in by wire fencing. There was one main dirt road that wound its way up to the entrance of the district, stopping at a front gate that was guarded by a few fairly bored MNU mercenaries. Supplies were brought into the district through the main gate, stored away in the few warehouses that were located nearby.

The narrow streets of District 10 were rather maze-like, winding through entire blocks of tents and metal shelters and shacks. Some were even under canvas shelters and most of the streets were littered with debris and refuse. There were often no indications of where one was going for there were no street signs to guide you. In fact, the only evidence of any organization was in the numbers that were printed on every tent and shack. These were more or less the addresses of the tents and shacks and helped the MNU personnel who ran the district find their way around, as well as locate any particular prawns they may be searching for.

There were approximately three million prawns living in District 10, give or take a few hundred thousand. Births went completely unchecked and uncontrolled, thus the population was growing at an alarming rate. The district itself constantly needed extensions to ease on the already grim problem of overcrowding, yet MNU did little else about it. It was safe to say that MNU cared little about the prawns here and this would be a fair guess. Living conditions were only marginally better here than they were in District 9. Here there was fresh water and food but otherwise the conditions were just as slummy as they are in District 9.

Most tents were crowded with large families of prawns, with often five or more living in the one small white tent. There were some luckier ones who had gotten themselves shacks and shanties but otherwise the streets were always crowded, some of the prawns even having taken up residence out on the streets. The smell of the air within the district wasn't exactly pleasant and was the sort of smell that was created when a few million unwashed aliens lived in their own filth.

MNU had a small contingent of about two hundred mercenaries and other personnel living nearby in barracks. It was their job to keep the prawns in check and ensure nothing illegal was going on, such as terrorist operations and domestic violence. None of the mercenaries were pleased with this job and often slacked off entirely, leaving the prawns of District 10 to do whatever they wanted. Domestic violence was always a growing concern since it seemed that a lot of the prawns had trouble getting along with one another, even if they might have been family. It might have been the stress of living in such a dismal place or just the way the prawns were, no one was sure. It wasn't uncommon to see a few prawns fighting it out on the streets over food scraps or some other trivial matter.

Food was shared out amongst the population daily but it was nowhere near enough to sustain everyone. Malnutrition was a common problem and one that MNU did little to fix. Disease ran rampant and many prawns succumbed to human illnesses that the humans themselves had since become immune to. It seemed that the alien immune systems were not prepared for the Earth-bound germs that were so common, thus it wasn't surprising to see a prawn or two die from a common cold virus. Some would even drop dead on the streets in a completely abrupt manner with no warning whatsoever as to their ailing health.

The perimeter of the district was patrolled but never very thoroughly. In fact many prawns were able to slip in and out as they pleased, some even taking the chance to run off and never be seen again. MNU did little about this, thinking that if any prawns did run off into the wilderness chances are they would die out there. And a few dead prawns meant less of them to feed.

It was no surprise then that in conditions like this, conditions reminiscent of a refugee camp or POW camp, that discontent had begun to rage. It had been for several years but had reached an ultimate peak only recently, culminating in constant attacks on MNU assets in Johannesburg and elsewhere. There were plenty of prawns who cared little about striking back at their human oppressors, preferring to merely eke out whatever living they could. There were plenty of other prawns who thought otherwise, deciding that the best way to take out their anger was in full scale terrorist attacks.

There was a rather healthy insurgent organization operating from within District 10. Not only did it have a rather large amount of recruits but its area of operations covered most of the district and even all the way out to Johannesburg. They had contacts in District 9 and had even managed to strike a few times in Johannesburg successfully. They had taken more than enough prisoners during their time of operating from District 10 and they had carried all manner of attacks, ranging from simple bombings to derailing trains. None of this was new for there had always been prawns, for as long as their race had been on Earth, that had carried out activities such as this. It was only in recent years that things had reached a peak.

To some of the more intelligent prawns it seemed that District 10 was the human answer to get rid of them. The public in Johannesburg had despised having District 9 so close, thus MNU had organized the mass eviction of the prawns from District 9 and into District 10. It seemed more of an "out of sight" solution, one that would only work out temporarily. There was no way that the prawns would be forgotten about so easily and there was no way that hiding them out in the countryside somewhere would solve the problem. Thus, MNU took a rather blasé attitude to the welfare of the prawns and ensured that plenty of them were dying off from the somewhat sub-par conditions in District 10. MNU had the vain hope that maybe there would be some sort of plague, one that might perhaps kill off the majority of the population. In fact, it wouldn't be a surprise if there were MNU scientists working on creating a plague right now.

There was one particular set of tents in the north-east section of the district. Here most of the open streets outside the tents were covered with canvas, providing shade from the hot South African sun. The tents themselves were mostly of the same sizes, perhaps no bigger than a standard shack that one might have found in District 9. The tents were all the same white colour, somewhat browned from being exposed to the elements for so long. There were a few shacks nearby and temporary shelters for those unfortunate enough to not have their own tent or shack, forced to sleep out on the streets while having an increased chance of dropping dead from some human ailment or just exposure. The prawns were hardy but not hardy enough, especially for a place like this that was in the middle of the South African countryside. In the day it was hot and dry while in the night it was cold and…well, it was also dry in the night. Freezing cold winds would billow through the maze-like streets, thus most of the prawns forced to sleep outside would be the first to get some sort of human disease such as the common cold. In all it was no wonder that some prawns weren't too pleased with the state of things here. There were always more willing to join some rebel group and there was only one real and efficiently run rebel group.

There was one tent that was somewhat quieter than the others, somewhat cleaner. Inside there were a few sleeping mats, a couple of tables and one old metal desk that was over in the corner. The desk itself was covered with plenty of loose papers and other items but otherwise it was well maintained. There were a few fold-out chairs scattered throughout the tent's interior, one of which was occupied by a somewhat older prawn than most. He was of a light brown colour, his exoskeleton showing the marks of age and more than a few scars from fight past fought. His eyes were of a matching light brown colour, one of which was blinded by an unpleasant scar that ran across it and down one side of his face. He had received that scar in a scuffle with a fellow prawn some years ago and had lived with it ever since then.

His human name was Carl Davis. He didn't really like having a human name, it reminded him of just how much the humans were oppressing his people. The humans seemed to think that by giving them all human sounding names the prawn culture as a whole would gradually be phased out, replaced by more "human-like" tendencies. Carl's original prawn name was long and impossible to pronounce by human vocal chords, thus no one ever called him it even more. Not even his grandson called him it, preferring to simply call him by his human title.

Carl made sure to keep the few items of clothing he wore in good condition, even if they didn't really fit him. His beige vest had seen better days, fitting over his slender alien frame fairly well but leaving his chest rather visible. He had repaired any tears that had appeared in its fabric but the constant mending and almost constant tearing had given it a rather patch-work look. He had told himself numerous times that he should find some new piece of clothing to replace it but he never had gotten around to doing that. He doubted he ever would; he was simply too attached to this vest.

He wore a set of matching cargo trousers which were in somewhat better condition than his jacket. He repaired them whenever necessary as well, using whatever fabric he could find to patch up the tears in the seams and worn down knees. The trousers themselves stopped just after his first knees (prawns had a bend in their legs at about halfway before another one just before their ankles, allowing them to move much faster than a human).

Carl was one of the few prawns that were left who had originally come on the ship. Most of the prawns who lived now had been born on Earth and had never seen their home-world, a thought that both saddened and angered the prawn. Any member of any race should be allowed to see their home-world, he thought, but the prawns here could not and perhaps never would. In fact, they were all stranded on this alien planet and left at the mercy of the dominant species: the humans. It was no wonder that he had gotten involved in the insurgent groups at the first chance he had received and was now a rather high-ranking member.

He had been on the ship and had been one of the few who knew how to pilot it, as Christopher Johnson had known. Neither of them had been successful in getting the ship started again, thus they had ended up stranded on Earth. He wondered if Christopher Johnson would ever return or if the people on their home-world would simply turn a blind eye to what was going on over here. He certainly hoped they didn't: these humans needed some sort of retribution for what they had done and were still doing to his race.

In the meantime the least he could do was be an avid member of the resistance. This tent, not only did it belong to him but it was also one of the many tents the insurgents used to store away their items. Carl's grandson, a light brown prawn with eyes that contained a rather bright vitality at his young age, was kneeling on the floor nearby. His human name was Lawrence Davis and he was fifteen in human years. Lawrence's father (who was also Carl's son) had been killed more than a decade ago in a firefight with some MNU mercenaries. Carl still remembered the day vividly and those memories would never leave him, no matter how hard he tried to forget them. After that Carl had taken Lawrence under his wing, teaching him how to read and write in both the human way and the way of their own race. Carl knew that knowing the human language and being able to read it would be an invaluable asset in their work as well as give them an advantage whenever MNU tried to con them. Still, this hadn't stopped MNU from forcing them to move out here while promising better living conditions.

Lawrence was wearing a pair of tattered grey trousers and nothing else. Clothing wasn't really a necessity for their race but it did give the impression of intelligence and modesty. Lawrence had pulled away a section of the tent's rubber flooring, revealing a set of metal grating that was covering up a carefully dug out square hole in the ground underneath. Within the hole were numerous firearms, some of their own race's design and some human.

Carl had always found the human weapons to be rather interesting in the way they worked. They had no genetic coding, instead a simple switch that dictated whether or not the weapon could be fired or not. The human weapons, rather than fire energy instead relied upon a chemical reaction to propel a metal projectile at supersonic speeds. This certainly was not as effective as a typical prawn weapon but human weapons were far easier to get hold of. Ammunition for them was plentiful (then again prawn made weapons didn't require ammunition) and there were always plenty of the guns to go around, as well as much variety in the types of human weapons available. Lawrence had removed a human made rifle, the type that the humans called a 'CR21'. He had a piece of cloth in one hand and began to use it to wipe the rifle clean of the dirt that had gathered in its framework, going about this work with a careful precision. Carl found Lawrence's fixation with firearms a little unnerving but he guessed it was a good thing in their line of work. Lawrence knew an awful lot about guns, both human and prawn types. He also knew where to get hold of some and had organized much in the way of gathering firearms and other equipment.

If MNU ever found out about their stashes of weapons there would be hell to pay. No doubt the two of them would be executed for being insurgents, or at the very least they would be arrested and probably become medical experiments. Carl was just as disgusted as most other prawns had been when they had learned of MNU's experiments with their kind. It was just another reason why the rebel groups were so widespread. Carl believed that the humans must be punished for their crimes against his race, even if it meant getting killed. If he died in the line of duty then he was dying for a cause he believed in: the freedom of his people, the Popleekwa, from the oppressive humans.

Carl had been reading one of the human books he had acquired recently. It was strange what passed as in-depth literature for the humans but it certainly helped to pass the time away. As much as he hated the humans he was always interested in what their kind wrote and supplied as entertainment, as "escapes from reality". Some of it was pure crap while some of it was actually half-decent. It certainly beat sitting around and doing nothing, an activity he had carried out on plenty of other occasions.

This tent was also home to a few other prawns, one in particular who had been missing for a few days now. This prawn, who called himself Willis, had been the one to actually help organize the rebel groups. He seemed like a reluctant leader and yet he bore a fairly high-up societal rank, the same one that Carl had. He had been the one to make the rebels as effective a guerrilla force that they were now…not because he was experienced but because he had the organizational skills to run them. Recently he had been spending much of his time mulling over their latest find, a fairly large piece of prawn technology that had been recovered during a raid last week. According to the notes Willis (or was it Wikus? Carl could never work it out…human names, when spoken in the prawn dialect, never really came out clearly) had made it seemed that the piece of alien technology was some sort of pod, one that Carl had a feeling about to its true nature. Lawrence had been asking a fair amount of questions to Willis and that may explain why the prawn had left, spending nights over in the tent where the pod was being kept hidden in order to study it closely and get away from the ever inquisitive Lawrence. These questions (Lawrence had always been the type to ask a lot of questions) were soon delivered to Carl, not that the old prawn would know many of the answers. Willis was keeping affairs with the stasis pod quite secret.

"The pod…does he think it'll work?" Lawrence asked, looking up from where he was polishing the human CR21 rifle.

Carl felt annoyed at the interruption, having reached a fairly interesting passage in what he was reading (a glance at the cover revealed it to be a work named _Hamlet_) and looked up, eyeing his grandson carefully with his one good hazel eye, the other scarred eye barely moving. Somewhere outside a prawn screeched angrily, probably getting into a fight as was often the case around here.

"What do you mean?" Carl gave the equivalent of a frown. His antennae wriggled curiously as he tried to work out what his grandson was referring to.

"His notes," Lawrence nodded towards Willis' desk that was over in the corner of the tent. "You've read them, haven't you?"

Carl remembered. The few notes that Willis had been keeping, scrawling on the back of ration cards and other unneeded paper, had been kept in a fairly organized manner. Willis had since taken them but not before the other prawns living in the tent who were literate had been able to read them.

"You mean the pod? The stasis pod?" Carl thought about this for a moment, shaking his head when his opinion had been set.

"It won't work," Carl said, "It's been stored in a human facility for twenty years, completely unmaintained and left to gather dust. There is no way that it would work. Besides, I think he's too far gone for anything to work."

Lawrence seemed to consider this, giving the equivalent of a frown.

"I think he's hoping it'll work…One of those vain hopes. He wants it to work, he wants it to fix him. And if you think there's no way it'll work I agree with you. There's not a trace of his human self left in him…save for the memories. I can't help but feel sorry for the poor guy."

When one of their uppermost leaders, one of the few who had been in command of their ship, had succumbed to a mysterious illness they had placed him in a stasis pod in order to preserve his dwindling life. There was no doubt in Carl's mind that the pod that had been recovered from the MNU convoy last week was in fact this stasis pod. Chances are the prawn leader inside of it was dead. Still, there was the possibility that it was still in working order…the DNA re-sequencer systems may still even work. Carl doubted this and he had a feeling Willis doubted it as well, but still Willis studied it, took notes. There was the risk that MNU would find out what they were doing but then again there would always be that risk. Everything they did, everything _anyone_ did had a degree of risk to it. No risk, no gain…or something like that, Carl wasn't too familiar with human clichés.

"Pity a human?" Carl scoffed, shaking his head. The thought amused him and Lawrence gave him an odd look.

"He's not human…"

"He was once."

"That doesn't count," Lawrence replied rather defensively. He was perhaps one of the few prawns who knew Willis, or Wikus, closely. Carl could see that the pair had developed some sort of friendship but still Carl didn't trust Willis, or Wikus, or whatever he called himself…Names weren't that important in prawn society. It was the scent that was important, as well as the pheromones one emitted; names were merely an additional thing, one that not all prawns adopted.

"His mind, his thoughts…they're still human," Carl said, deciding to push his point on the young prawn. Lawrence's antennae bristled in some slight annoyance, giving the impression that he wasn't in the mood for a typical grandfather-to-grandson talking-to. Still, Carl went on regardless of what the teenager was feeling. Lawrence reminded Carl of himself, albeit younger and far more energetic.

"He will always have a connection to the humans as long as he has those thoughts, those memories and his personality as a whole. Maybe if that was gone I would trust him…"

"But all that he's done for us!" Lawrence exclaimed, somewhat exasperated, "He's helped us make a difference…He helped us get organized. Without him, we would have been killed by MNU mercenaries months ago."

Carl didn't feel like arguing it anymore. Lawrence obviously felt very strongly on the subject and as Carl had been when he was young, Lawrence was damn stubborn, almost unshakeably so. It was another aspect that reminded Carl of himself at a younger age.

"I doubt it," Carl said bluntly.

"You doubt it? And why? Just because of what he once was?" Lawrence shook his head, a typical human motion. Carl didn't like it when he was reminded of just how human-like his grandson was becoming. It was understandable since Lawrence had grown up on this world, exposed to humans and their ideals for most of his young life. Carl made sure that there were still Popleekwa traits to balance out these human ones and prevent his grandson from becoming like some of the other prawns he knew.

There had been one of their equipment movers, Vincent Matheson had been his name, who had been far too human-like for Carl to even like him. Vincent had moved equipment back and forth between here and District 9 on more than one occasion, having been a rather casual member of the resistance who seemed to only take part in their operations when it suited him. Only in recent months had he effectively severed his ties with them and that moron Willis…Wikus…whatever…had gone out of his way to give the nineteen year old prawn a sort of going away present: one of their prawn weapons, customized by Willis himself. It occurred to Carl that he didn't like a lot of the other prawns he knew, mainly because of their ever increasing human-like tendencies. Unless, of course, he was just a grumpy old prawn which was what most of the younger ones thought of him nowadays. He had reached a point in his life where what others thought of him no longer mattered.

"I'm tired of retreading the same old ground when we discuss this," Carl said, placing his copy of _Hamlet_ on the table to his right with the other books and magazines he had in his possession. It was a sizable collection and he took extra care in keeping it hidden from the MNU mercenaries. If they found out he could read there would undoubtedly be trouble…in the form of experiments and tests. He shuddered at the thought.

"And what would you prefer to talk about, grandfather?" Lawrence asked. He put the CR21 rifle back into the hole with the other weapons. He briefly surveyed the weapons on display down in the hole, picking up one of the AK-47 style Vektor R4 rifles. He proceeded to start wiping this clean as well and Carl had a feeling that the fifteen year old would do this for every one of those weapons. No doubt he would be there for a couple of hours, casually wiping down the contents of their armoury.

"What of your relationship with the female?" Carl asked. His feelers bristled with amusement when he saw Lawrence's nervous reaction upon hearing this. He stopped wiping down the R4 rifle, eyeing his grandfather carefully.

"It is…" Lawrence trailed off. He didn't seem too certain in the matter and Carl could only manage the prawn equivalent of a grin. He enjoyed seeing Lawrence suddenly nervous like he was now.

"Any progress?" Carl asked. He wasn't surprised at the answer.

"No," Lawrence replied rather bluntly. He seemed disheartened to say it. He was probably beginning to doubt his chances with the female in question altogether.

"Why not?"  
Lawrence lightly wriggled his antennae, the equivalent of a shrug. _At least he didn't do it in the human way_, Carl thought.

"She likes Wikus better than she likes me," Lawrence said, looking up.

Carl frowned at the thought. It took him a moment for the idea to fully register in his head.

"Don't you mean Willis?" He asked as he pondered over what this meant. The female liked the ex-human better than she liked his grandson. Maybe Carl would have to change this…somehow. He was sort of short on ideas.

"No, it's Wikus," Lawrence replied, correcting his grandfather's mistake, "there's a 'K' sound in there, no 'L's."

Wikus, Willis…who cares? Carl wanted to find out more about the relationship the female had with the ex-human and why she liked him more than his grandson. Carl was already forming some sort of idea in his mind, one that he could use to turn the female's attention onto his grandson and off of the quiet, withdrawn ex-human. Wikus/Willis didn't say much, preferring to keep to himself as he went about taking his notes and organizing yet another raid on some MNU compound to get supplies or equipment. Sure, Wikus/Willis may have helped them in more ways than any other prawn could have but he was still human in a way. He still had a human personality, human memories…He would never be a "true" prawn. It seemed that all Wikus/Willis did was wander around, write down notes and diary entries while mumbling to himself. Some resistance leader he was.

Carl knew he could probably do a better job, but he was too old. His grandson, on the other hand, fit the bill nicely. However, Lawrence was too much of a friend to Wikus/Willis to even contemplate taking his place. Carl would have to convince the fifteen year old otherwise, but convincing someone as stubborn as Lawrence would be difficult.

"Have you tried changing that?" Carl asked.

Lawrence seemed perplexed for a moment.

"Changing what?" He asked.

"Changing her opinion of you," Carl said. He had experience with females and it would be fair to give Lawrence some advice.

"If she's so fixated on the ex-human, perhaps you should try something to get her to shift that fixation from him to you," Carl continued. Lawrence seemed to think about this, taking his time as he formulated a reply. His feelers wriggled slightly as he pondered over what he could possibly do.

"Why is it so important, anyway?" Lawrence asked, "If she likes him that's fine with me. I'll just find someone else…"

"The female, what was her name again?" Carl struggled to remember, finding that his memory wasn't as good as it used to be. It was just another sign of his ever advancing age.

"Her human given name is Iris," Lawrence replied, "Why?"

"I want to talk with her," Carl said. Why would a respectable female, one of high societal rank, want anything to do with a prawn who wasn't even a "true" prawn? One who had only spent the last two, perhaps three years as a prawn? Before then Wikus/Willis had been human and an utter bastard of one at that…at least, anyone who worked for MNU could be considered an "utter bastard".

Lawrence seemed to frown, uncertain of his grandfather's motives.

"I think she's spending time with Wikus," Lawrence said, sounding somewhat downbeat, "Over in the tent where the pod is being kept. It wouldn't be stupid to say that she's…uh…"

The female, Iris, was perhaps the only decent female in this section of the district. She was certainly the only female Carl thought would actually be fit for his grandson. All the other females he had seen were too low in Popleekwa society to be fitting for the grandson of one of the ship's original engineers.

"She's in love with him," Lawrence finished, breaking Carl's train of thought. The old prawn looked up, frowning when he heard this.

"Wikus doesn't share the same feelings that she has for him, I think," Lawrence added before his grandfather could jump to conclusions (and Carl had been close to doing just that).

"So she loves him…"

"…but he doesn't really love her back," Lawrence finished, nodding along with his grandfather. In all, Carl found this to be an intriguing premise. No doubt the ex-human had divided loyalties, something that didn't really surprise him.

"Maybe there's hope for you yet," Carl commented. All he had to do was persuade Iris that Wikus/Willis wasn't worth going for and maybe then she would shift her attention to his grandson. A female like her would make something out of a stubborn, gun-obsessed male like Lawrence.

There was the sound of footsteps near the tent's plastic door. Both prawns turned their heads towards the white plastic door, only just able to make out the shadow of the figure behind it. It was a human, one that both Carl and Lawrence recognized immediately.

Lawrence quickly tossed the R4 rifle back in the hole before putting the metal grating over it, rolling the rubber flooring back into place. An impatient sounding knock on the plastic came from the door as the familiar human waited to be let in. If they delayed long enough he would simply kick the door down…he was the type of man to do that. And he had done it on more than one occasion in the past.

"Open up," a gruff, stern voice sounded from outside.

As soon as Lawrence had the weapon stash carefully hidden away Carl stood up and went for the door. Marinus Venter was not the type of man one would want to keep waiting.


	19. Life in District 10 Part II

There was another knock on the slightly transparent white plastic, this time coming off as more impatient. Whatever Captain Marinus Venter was here for he was not the type anyone would want to keep waiting. He stood at the tent's door, each knock seeming to shake the entire structure.

The older prawn, Carl Davis, made sure to stash his books and magazines under the table before opening up a large section of cloth and throwing it upon the table. The edges of it hung off of the table and obscured the pile of hardcover books and newspapers from view, effectively keeping his literacy a secret. Fifteen year old Lawrence was still flattening out the rubber flooring over the hole that contained a stash of weapons.

Carl's heart-rate had increased significantly as he strode over to the door, half-expecting the disgruntled human outside to simply kick it in and waltz into the tent. There was always the risk of their rebel activities getting discovered and the consequences would certainly be dire. He was certain there would be interrogation and torture before he was sent off to become some sort of medical experiment, dissected on a surgical table in some MNU facility somewhere. It wasn't exactly the way he would have liked to go, preferring that he die with some dignity and if possible in a shower of glory.

Lawrence seemed to relax, having covered up the hidden armoury with the rubber matting to an extent that didn't give away its location. The rubber matting looked as flat as it normally was, giving the appearance that it had not been disturbed. Lawrence sat himself down on one of the nearby chairs in order to give the appearance that he hadn't been doing much before the human came in.

Carl approached the door, just as Marinus let forth with another set of powerful knocks, followed by his usually stern voice.

"Open the fuck up," Marinus demanded while sounding annoyed, "Otherwise I'll kick this fucking door down…"

Carl grabbed the handle and pulled open the door. He was immediately hit with a blast of the dry air outside, as well as the smell that seemed to hang around the exterior areas of District 10: it was a strange, musty smell with something pungent underneath, a smell that was no doubt the result of plenty of unwashed prawns living nearby.

Marinus Venter was about six feet four with a muscular build and stern, well chiselled features. He had short-cut brown hair and some carefully maintained stubble on and around his chin. His eyes were a light brown but seemed to contain an inner coldness that helped to give away his dislike of the prawn race as a whole. He had a level gaze on as he usually did, since Marinus Venter did not show much emotion…ever, even when he was beating on prawns just for the fun of it. He was outfitted in a light brown set of combat gear, with camouflage pants and a black Kevlar vest that displayed his last name in small white letters on one part of the chest area.

Behind him a brown MNU open-top jeep was parked out in the street. A few curious prawns had come out to investigate his arrival and were watching the human carefully, obviously finding him quite untrustworthy. Marinus seemed to emit and aura of ruthlessness, one that came across in just about everything he did when it came to dealing with prawns.

Carl knew for a fact that most of the human MNU mercenaries that worked here in District 10 would have preferred to be elsewhere. Marinus was no different, disliking this job and thinking that he could be doing far better somewhere else. Working in District 10, trying to keep the prawns in check was an absolute pain in the arse in Marinus Venter's opinion. Perhaps the only reason he did it was because of what had happened to his older brother back in 2010…dead at the hands of some prawns. In fact, it was quite literally "at the hands of" since Koobus Venter had been torn to pieces. Maybe Marinus remained working here just so he could deliver his own personal vengeance on the prawns, beating them up and killing them if they so much as annoyed him.

He had a sidearm, a Beretta Star pistol, holstered at his waist. In his left hand he was holding a sheet of paper, one that seemed to be detailing why he had come out here. Carl couldn't see the writing from where he stood and didn't bother trying to read it, thinking that Marinus would reveal why he had come along soon enough. There was a cattle prod clipped to the human's belt, the type that could deliver a fair amount of pain to any prawn he zapped with it.

Marinus gave Carl a careful, examining gaze. The two knew each other in a way since Marinus had visited before for numerous reasons. Whatever he was here for now was unknown but he seemed about to say why. He peered past Carl and towards the younger prawn, Lawrence, who was seated in the tent.

Some angry alien chirps sounded from behind and Marinus turned around, watching as a pair of prawns began to search through the open-top jeep. Marinus gave an angry frown before pulling out his Beretta pistol. He pointed it upwards and fired three shots, the sounds of the shots echoing throughout the neighbourhood. Immediately the prawns in the jeep stopped what they were doing and looked towards him, partly out of fear and partly out of curiosity.

"Get the fuck away from that jeep, you dumb shits!" Marinus shouted angrily. He levelled the pistol in the direction of the two prawns currently on top of the Jeep. Before neither could do anything Marinus had fired the pistol again, the bullet catching one of the prawns in the head. Black blood splattered across the jeep's windscreen and the prawn tumbled off of the vehicle, landing with a dull _thump_ in the dirt.

Carl swallowed, doing his best to contain his anger. Here he was, faced with a human who no doubt enjoyed killing his race and had just done so again. He knew if he so much as tried anything to stop him he would die as well, thus Carl had to prevent himself from lashing out at the human.

Marinus turned around as the other prawn scuttled away from the jeep, the point having been made. The human kept a level gaze as he slipped his sidearm back into its holster at his waist, eyeing Carl Davis carefully.

"You guys just never learn," he commented, his voice laced with dislike, "I'm sure you would know what I mean, eh Carl?"

Carl nodded. He had to nod in the human fashion since he was fairly certain Marinus wouldn't know typical prawn body language.

"You're smart Carl, and that's a good thing," Marinus continued, "You ought to try and teach your prawn friends a thing or two about annoying me, you know?"

"What do you want, human?" Lawrence asked this, rising to his feet as he delivered the question. Carl noticed a hint of anger in the young prawn's voice and Marinus seemed to notice it too. Carl shot his grandson the sort of look that told him to "back down" but somehow he doubted his stubborn grandson would pay any attention to it.

"You know better than to call me human, prawn," Marinus said, somewhat mockingly but never losing that stable gaze of his, "I'm a Captain. Either you call me 'Captain' or 'Sir', you got that?"

"What do you want…Captain?" Lawrence clicked the last word with noticeable distaste but Marinus didn't seem to notice or care. Instead, the human's gaze shifted back towards Carl.

"A routine search, that's why I'm here," Marinus said, "and I'm looking for one prawn in particular. I believe he lives here?" He held up the paper he was holding, revealing it to be some sort of information sheet complete with a mug-shot of the prawn in question. Carl recognized the prawn in the photo immediately but didn't say anything. He decided to let Marinus ask first.

"My superiors have reason to believe that there's some…uh…_suspicious_ activity going on," Marinus continued, "presumably the type to do with terrorist operations. Of course, I'm not accusing anyone here of being a terrorist…"

"We've got nothing to hide," Carl replied bluntly. He wasn't about to let the human faze him in any way whatsoever. He could tell this was what Marinus was trying to do, especially in regards to the accused terrorist operations.

"Then can I come in?" Marinus still had a level gaze on his face, his voice the only thing that portrayed any semblance of emotion. Marinus was someone who only showed emotion when absolutely necessary, preferring to show himself as cold and calculating when dealing with prawns.

Carl stepped aside, allowing Marinus Venter entrance into the tent. The human stepped in rather casually, surveying the inside of the tent with a careful gaze and little to no emotion. His eyes met with Lawrence's and the young prawn's antennae wriggled apprehensively. Marinus took note of this and shook his head, shooting the young prawn a rather sharp gaze. Lawrence averted his eyes and instead began fiddling with a tear in the seam of his trousers.

"Tidy as always, eh Carl?" Marinus asked, turning around to watch the old prawn. Carl left the tent's door open, letting in some much needed fresh air despite the fact that it was hot and dry. He then turned to watch the human carefully as he stepped towards the table, tapping the surface absently.

"So…where's the others?" Marinus looked towards Carl, raising an eyebrow.

"The others?"

"The other prawns who live here," Marinus said. He held up the sheet again, showing off the mug-shot of the prawn he seemed to be after. Carl, for one, couldn't be sure of where that prawn was nor could he actually tell Marinus where he thought that prawn was. That would lead him to the stasis pod and thus they would all get in trouble and the resistance would be effectively shut down. Carl wasn't about to let that happen.

"Who do you think?" Marinus added. He looked towards Lawrence, noticing that the young prawn didn't seem to be watching him.

"This must be your son," Marinus said.

"He's my grandson…" Carl began.

"Big difference," Marinus interjected in a rather careless manner, silencing Carl with this carefully delivered and rather abrupt response. He eyed Lawrence. "Lawrence, right?"

Lawrence looked up, examining the human with a gaze that betrayed the dislike he had for him. Once again Marinus either didn't notice or didn't care about what the young prawn thought of him.

"So, there's Lawrence, there's you…" Marinus returned his gaze to Carl. "What about the others? What about…" He looked towards the sheet, reading the name on display. "Willis Harrison?"

Willis Harrison. No doubt that was a false name the ex-human had adopted. So, Carl had been right in calling the ex-human 'Willis' all along, even if that wasn't his real name.

"Why do you want to find him?" Carl asked. He knew he would have to tread carefully in regards to the ex-human. Either Marinus' superiors knew the truth or they were just suspicious of the resistance organization that Willis was running.

"Because, I need to ask him some questions," Marinus replied, somewhat annoyed at Carl's apparent naivety, "Why else? Why else would I want to talk with a dumbass prawn? My superiors…they're suspicious of him. And they're suspicious of you and your idiot grandson."

Carl bristled at the insult directed at Lawrence. His grandson looked up but didn't say anything, knowing that it was better that he keep quiet. Marinus was probably expecting one of them to lose their temper…Neither prawn would give the human an excuse to kill them.

So, he obviously didn't know the truth about the ex-human. That was good…at least, it was for now. Carl would have preferred that Willis or Wikus or whatever he liked to be called was gone. Marinus and the rest of the idiot mercenaries would continue to be completely oblivious to the fact that there was a wanted fugitive living in the district. Humans, it seemed, could be so stupid sometimes.

"I don't know where he is," Carl replied, this being a mere half-truth. He did have an idea of where Wikus/Willis was, he just wasn't about to tell Marinus. The mercenary seemed to eye him carefully, as if trying to work out if he was telling the truth or not. Marinus found it difficult to work out just what the alien was thinking merely by looking at him. Reading emotions from prawns wasn't something he was good at.

"Are you sure about that?" Marinus asked, leering slightly. Carl ignored the human's attempts at trying to be intimidating and delivered his response as evenly as he could.

"Yes, I am sure of it…Captain."

Marinus contemplated this for a moment, thinking through what this could mean. He could tell that the prawn wasn't being entirely forthcoming…both his and Carl's eyes met in a gaze that communicated their distrust of one another.

"My grandfather is telling the truth," Lawrence interjected, both Marinus and Carl turning to look at the young prawn. Carl gave his grandson a cautioning gaze, one that told him to tread carefully when speaking with this human.

"And you would know, would you?" Marinus asked, unpersuaded.

"What else do you want with us, human…I mean, _Captain_?" Carl was beginning to tire of this human's efforts at being intimidating. It seemed that Marinus was merely here to make a pain in the arse of himself and little else. If he wanted to find Wikus/Willis he was best off leaving and searching elsewhere. Of course, chances are he might actually find Wikus/Willis studying over the stasis pod. If that happened they would all be in deep trouble.

"Listen, I've come here for a few reasons and the least you could do is show me some respect," Marinus said, "after all, _I'm _the one with the gun." He tapped the pistol he had holstered at his waist, his voiced tinged with some pride at the fact. Of course, he had no idea about the many weapons that were stashed away in a hole under a particular section of the tent's flooring.

"Unless, of course, you've got some hidden away that I don't know about?" He frowned, surveying the inside of the tent before resting his gaze back onto Carl.

The old prawn did feel a sudden bout of anxiety but he quickly quelled it, keeping himself level-headed as Marinus paced the confines of the tent. Maybe Marinus noticed the slight hint of this anxiety in the old prawn's one good eye because if he did he didn't show it. Rather, he approached Lawrence, taking a look at the nearby table and then scanning his gaze across the rubber flooring below. Lawrence watched the human carefully, keeping silent as Marinus seemed to take in every little detail of the inside of the tent.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he said, approaching the nearest wall of the tent. He found the edge of the rubber matting there, nudging it with one booted foot.

Carl and Lawrence kept whatever fear they were feeling contained, even if Marinus seemed rather close to where the weapons were stashed. If he found them the mercenary would probably shoot both of them on the spot, if only to please himself. He seemed to have the right idea as to how to find them, nudging part of the rubber matting enough to reveal the dirt underneath. He peered down at it curiously, finding nothing not quite right about it.

Both Carl and Lawrence knew that all Marinus needed to do was pull the matting back a few more inches to reveal the metal grating. Underneath the small section of metal grating would be the stash of weapons in all its glory, something that would undoubtedly prove that both Carl and Lawrence were terrorists…rebels…insurgents. It seemed that MNU had many names for their type and had trouble settling on just one of them.

"You two do seem like the type who would gladly go out of your way to blow something up," Marinus said, kicking the matting back into place. Both Carl and Lawrence relaxed slightly.

Marinus looked up, glancing at both Carl and Lawrence. He seemed to notice that they were both watching him very carefully, as if they really did have something to hide.

"What's the matter?" Marinus commented. He didn't smile but his tone was rather mocking. "You both look uneasy…well, that's just my opinion. It's hard to tell with you prawns. You all look alike."

"We don't all look alike," Lawrence said defensively in response to Marinus' gross generalisation. The young prawn was right: no two prawns looked exactly alike. Even in this tent Carl was a slightly darker shade of brown when compared to his grandson. Marinus didn't seem to care too much, simply shrugging in response to Lawrence's remark.

"So what? Does it look like I care?"

Lawrence was about to answer but Marinus spoke before him.

"Don't bother answering that question," Marinus said bluntly, "No, what I want you to tell me is where Willis is. You two know, I can see that much…"

"I told you, neither of us know," Carl replied, shaking his head. Why couldn't the human just leave them alone? He wasn't gaining anything by being here.

"Bullshit," Marinus said, "You know. You just don't want to tell me."

He took a step towards the table with the tablecloth over it. Carl had a feeling that the mercenary would discover the horde of books under the table but he didn't even look, simply tapping the surface impatiently.

"Where is he?" He asked again, his voice as level and controlled as it always was.

"Why is it so important?" Lawrence was the one to ask this and upon saying it Marinus' gaze shot over towards the young prawn.

"So you know where he is?" Marinus asked, his slitted eyes a little wider than usual.

Lawrence shook his head.

"No…I just want to know why it's so important that you find him. What's he done that has you so interested in questioning him?" Lawrence ignored the cautioning gaze that Carl sent his way, keeping his eyes fixed on the ever more menacing Marinus Venter.

"We're just suspicious of him," Marinus replied, "just as we're suspicious of you and your grandad. In fact, there are a number of you prawns that we're thinking might be involved in this insurgency business. Willis is just one of them."

"You think we're all terrorists?" Carl asked. This might have been true but Marinus knowing this truth would not be a good thing. The prawn resistance wouldn't survive if Willis was taken out, as well as Carl and Lawrence. The three of them, Willis especially, made up most of the resistance group's leadership.

"I have my own thoughts on all of you," Marinus said, "but they're my thoughts and I'm not willing to share them right about now. So, you two should quit wasting my fucking time and start cooperating, first by telling me where Willis is…"

"Again, I tell you that neither of us knows where he is," Carl said. He was getting tired of repeating this, even if it was a bit of a lie. Still, he had to keep the lies going otherwise Marinus might not ever leave them alone.

"And once again, I think you're bullshitting," Marinus said in response, his tone blunt but level, "so, set aside this fucking bullshit and start giving me some real answers…"

"Fuck you, Captain," Lawrence said, delivering this statement with some hatred lacing his clicks and chirps.

It took a moment for the words to register in Marinus' mind. When they did his eyes narrowed and his hand went for his pistol. Within seconds the pistol was out and pointed towards the young prawn, the sight of it making the young prawn shrink back a little in his chair. Carl felt a sudden rage build inside of him but knew better than to lash out, keeping himself controlled as the pistol went from being trained onto Lawrence and onto him.

"Who's the one with the gun, you dumb shits?" Marinus asked, delivering this as a rhetorical question. He shifted the aim of the pistol back and forth from Lawrence and Carl, doing this more for his own entertainment than the fact that he was actually going to shoot one of them.

"Go on Lawrence, say it again," Marinus asked, keeping the pistol held tight in his right hand while training it straight towards the young prawn. Lawrence looked at the gun and then at the human, his eyes moving back and forth between both rather rapidly.

"I didn't think you'd want to say it again," Marinus said, lowering the pistol. He slid it back into the holster at his waist, not even smiling despite the fact that he was quite obviously enjoying himself.

Lawrence relaxed noticeably, as did Carl. Here they were faced with a somewhat unstable human, at least he seemed that way. Perhaps Marinus only liked being intimidating to the prawns, probably because he thought they were inferior to him. Carl didn't agree with this perception and instead had the distinct idea in his mind that Marinus Venter would be one of the humans he would kill…some day and somehow. He would work out a means to do it; he had access to the appropriate equipment after all.

Marinus was about to add more onto what he had previously said when the radio clipped to his vest crackled into life. A gruff, British accented voice broke through the silence of the tent and Marinus was both annoyed and surprised at the interruption. He quickly composed himself though and flicked a switch on the small radio in order to deliver a response.

"_Captain Venter, are you there? Come on, answer me you fucking twat…"_

Marinus rolled his eyes at the Brit's profanity and delivered his response in a level tone.

"Yeah, it's me," Marinus replied.

"_Venter, you prick, wherever you are I want you back at my office pronto! Something's come up…"_

Marinus frowned when he heard this, somewhat perplexed as to why he had to suddenly go out of his way and leave. He looked at both Carl and Lawrence, thinking that he was still having too much fun here to leave now.

"Uh…Colonel McTavish, I'm in the middle of something…"

"_I couldn't give a shit if you were busy jacking off! Get to my office now, you dumb prick, or you'll be on latrine duty for the whole of next week! Do you hear me, Venter?"_

"I think you should listen to your superior," Carl said, noticing that Marinus was in a fairly vulnerable position now.

"Shut the fuck up, prawn," Marinus spat, the hatred clear in his voice. Carl went quiet but was satisfied with the effect he had created. Marinus was being bossed around by the somewhat foul-mouth Colonel McTavish, the man who was in charge of the mercenaries who kept security in District 10. Carl had personally never encountered Colonel McTavish although if he ever did he was thinking maybe he ought to break the human's neck. McTavish was pretty much in charge of District 10 and seemed to hate the job, slacking off where appropriate while complaining that MNU didn't support him enough. He also had a habit of killing prawns for no real reason, thus killing him as payback would probably shake MNU up a bit. It was currently on the resistance's priority list and was rather high up on that list.

"_What did you say?"_

"Nothing," Marinus said, realizing that McTavish probably heard what he had said to Carl, "I was talking to one of the prawns I'm with…"

"_Seriously Venter, get your fucking priorities right! Forget about the prawns and get to my office! My patience has been thin lately and I don't need some half-wit mercenary like you to test it anymore than it has been already!"_

"I understand…"

_"No, I don't think you do. I've had MNU pricks swarming all over my case lately and none of them have been much help. They seem more interested in studying the stupid aliens…Fuck 'em, I say. Fuck 'em all. If I had my way, I'd nuke the place and get rid of it for good. It's a fucking blot on the landscape if you ask me."_

Marinus listened to all of this with little interest, having since gotten used to McTavish's habit of rambling on about some irrelevant topic. Carl and Lawrence watched and listened as the conversation continued, both prawns trying to hide their amusement at hearing McTavish berate Marinus over the radio.

"I'm still trying to find—"

"_Jesus Christ Venter, you don't know when to shut up! Well, I have advice: SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LISTEN TO ME. Stop trying to find that prawn…Whatever his name was, I can't fucking remember. No, I want you back in my office. Something's come up and you're sort of needed…Actually, as much as I hate to admit it you ARE needed. You're the best man I have. And no, that doesn't mean you can get all cocky about it."_

"I thought you wanted me to—"

"_Forget about the fucking prawns already! There's some team coming here pretty soon and they'll need someone to guide them through the district. You're my best man so guess what…"_

"I'm their tour guide?" Marinus didn't sound at all enthused by this announcement.

"_You're their fucking tour guide. And they're going to find the prawn you're trying to find, whatever it's name was. Actually, they're going to do your job and find out where these prawns are working their terrorist operation from. I'm thinking they might actually do something about it, unlike you. Ever since I put you on the case you haven't made any notable progress at all…"_

"You only put me 'on the case' this morning."

There was a pause on the other end of the signal as Colonel McTavish contemplated this point. Marinus seemed to be waiting for the conversation to end, playing along with whatever McTavish said to him. Carl and Lawrence simply sat in silence, waiting for the mercenary to leave.

"_So what? Get over to my office within the next ten minutes and I'll tell you more. Things are going to change around here, I'm sure of it."_

With that McTavish switched off his radio and left a hiss of static coming from Marinus' one. Marinus switched it off and stood thinking about what had occurred, his gaze going to the two prawns seated ahead of him.

"I'm watching you two," he said, his eyes meeting with Carl's one good eye. The old prawn watched as the mercenary strolled towards the door and left the tent, slamming the flimsy plastic door shut behind him. The impact shook the entire tent momentarily, rattling the frames rather noisily.

Carl turned to Lawrence and exchanged glances with the young prawn. Marinus had been fairly close to working out what they were hiding and there was no doubt in either of their minds that the mercenary would return.

"We should warn Wikus, tell them they're onto him," Lawrence suggested.

"You go ahead and do that," Carl said, barely interested in the matter. The ex-human obviously wanted nothing to do with them, having spent most of the past few days in another tent entirely by himself or with that female, Iris, for company.

Carl pulled off the tablecloth just as Marinus' jeep pulled away outside, kicking up a trail of dust behind it. Carl picked up his copy of _Hamlet_ and flicked to the page he had been up to before Marinus' arrival.

"You don't like Wikus, do you?" Lawrence asked, his feelers wriggling with curiosity.

Carl didn't even look up from what he was reading, simply wriggling his antennae in the "negative" fashion. Lawrence, despite being intelligent and all wasn't as observant as his grandfather would have preferred.


	20. Vincent and Linda

**Vincent and Linda  
**Somewhere outside Johannesburg, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1230 Hours

"Do you know where you're going?" Linda's annoyed voice cut through the silence suddenly. Vincent only looked up as he walked along, still rather deep in his own thoughts.

"Seriously, Vincent, do you have any idea as to whether we're heading the right way or not?" Linda was tagging along behind Vincent by a few metres, a clear plastic bottle of water in one hand. It was almost empty by now and they still had…well, they had a rather long way to go.

The pair had been trudging along the countryside for over an hour now, staying close to a road but not close enough to be spotted by any cars that might drive along it. Linda had put a fair amount of faith into Vincent, letting the prawn take the lead since he apparently knew how to get to District 10. Vincent could tell that Linda was perhaps a little reluctant to even come along, thinking that she probably had better things to do right now. However, they both knew that they were fugitives now even if Linda hadn't really done anything except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Vincent was the one MNU was after and had a legitimate reason to be interested in apprehending him. His ties (that were now severed) to the insurgent group operating from District 10 was perhaps the main reason. Linda had just been dragged into it by mere chance and now she was just as wanted by MNU as he was.

Vincent had taken this route a few times before, Traversing two hundred miles worth of countryside did take a number of days and required some supplies. Unfortunately neither of them had much in the way of supplies on them. Linda seemed to be slowing Vincent down since the prawn was often able to make good distance on these long treks, but he had always been by himself on previous times. Now he was with someone who probably hadn't needed to carry out such a long walk, instead using their car to get from Point A to Point B.

Linda had calmed down since her bout of near hysteria after they had escaped from the MNU armoured personnel carrier. Vincent didn't feel much in the way of remorse for having killed the mercenaries that had been holding them captive. In fact, he didn't feel very much about them at all. He guessed that killing a few mercenaries was one way of letting his deep, inner rage abate slightly. It had been there ever since he had witnessed his father get gunned down and it had been building ever since, increasing with each atrocity he saw that was committed against his race.

"Vincent, can you answer my fucking question?" Linda sounded agitated now. She didn't usually swear but today was beginning to become a rather bad day for her.

Vincent didn't reply. As much as he liked Linda, she was starting to get on his nerves. How far had they walked in the last hour? Two miles? Why, that only left one hundred and ninety eight to traverse to get to District 10! If he had been by himself he might have been able to make five miles in an hour, young prawns like him were rather athletic. He did know where he was going; it was just a case of following the desert highways. Hence, Linda should just shut up and follow his lead.

Around them open savannah and hills rolled onto the horizon. Long, mostly yellow and brown desert grass stood above knee high. They pushed on through it, disturbing insects and small furry animals as they went. Behind them, in the distance were the tall buildings of Johannesburg. Vincent felt little regret for leaving that city behind, thinking that the open desert air might help him clear his head a little. It was still throbbing dully, perhaps being an after-effect of eating cat food, he couldn't be sure.

Vincent still carried the Beretta pistol he had taken from one of the mercenaries inside the MNU APC. As he walked he pulled out the weapon's magazine, checking it to see just how many rounds were left loaded in it. There were eight of the rather small golden-bronze coloured 9mm rounds. If they got into another scrape with MNU mercenaries Vincent could perhaps pull through with this many rounds, as long as he didn't miss. From what he could tell too little time had passed for MNU to have sent out a large amount of patrols and there was far too much ground to cover. Vincent knew how to avoid detection, he had learned from past experiences. All he had to do was lay low when a helicopter flew overhead and keep to the long grass if any MNU APCs rolled by…

"Christ, Vincent, are you listening to me?" Linda caught up to him and used one hand to turn the prawn around. He found himself looking down into the human's eyes, his train of thought broken.

Linda looked especially flustered and seemed a bit tired out. She obviously hadn't needed to hike such distances for a while. She was sweating a fair bit, something that wasn't helped by the constant heat of the sun that beared down upon the landscape. Vincent would probably be sweating as well…except, being a prawn, he couldn't sweat. Maybe that was for the best, he figured, since Linda didn't look too comfortable in her currently sweaty state.

"I'm listening," Vincent said, although in reality he hadn't been. He had been too busy pondering over his own thoughts, trying his best to keep from losing his temper at Linda's constant pestering.

"It certainly doesn't look that way," Linda replied, shaking her head. She wiped her brow with one sleeve, taking a look around them at the seemingly endless African savannah that they were surrounded by. She was probably having second thoughts about having agreed to accompany Vincent. Then again, she didn't have much of a choice seeing as she was wanted by MNU, as was Vincent.

"What do you want me to say?" Vincent asked. They were delaying, chances are MNU would beat them to District 10. He would have suggested they get transport but he didn't know how to drive…

"I want you to at least acknowledge my existence," Linda said, managing only a slight grin, "Then maybe we can discuss some sort of plan. One that doesn't involve spending the next week crossing the South African countryside..."

"We could get transport," Vincent suggested, "but I don't know how to drive, nor do I know where to actually find a car."

"I can drive," Linda replied, sounding a little relieved to see that Vincent was thinking along the same lines as her, "and, since we're both fugitives I don't think it'll matter if we steal a car."

"Steal a car?" This thought hadn't occurred to Vincent at all. Steal, as in take something that didn't belong to them? His father had taught him that doing something like that was wrong and would only cause trouble. Vincent may have "found" a lot of what was in his shack back in District 9, but he hadn't outright "stolen" anything. He was either given it or found it discarded somewhere. Just like most prawns, he was a scavenger.

"Yes, Vincent, we steal a car," Linda replied, smiling when she saw Vincent's reaction to the suggestion. "Why? Haven't you ever stolen anything before?"

Vincent shook his head.

"No, I can't say that I have…"

"I can't say I've ever stolen a car," Linda said, "but I have stolen a few lesser items during my life. Most people have at some point, although very few would be keen to admit it." She paused, thinking about what else to say.

"If memory serves me correctly, there should be a service station around here somewhere," she said, "we can stock up there. I have some money, but not a lot."

"What about me?" Vincent could see that Linda was shaping up some sort of plan, he just wasn't too sure as to whether it was fit to succeed. A service station? As in, one where humans could take their vehicles to get refuelled and/or repaired? No doubt there would be cars there, cars that could be stolen.

"You'll just have to stay out of sight," Linda said.

Up above, the sound of a helicopter's whirring blades became audible. Immediately Vincent had hit the dirt, bringing Linda down with him. The helicopter, one clearly marked as coming from MNU, flew overhead. The sound of its blades hit a crescendo as it flew high over the pair who were hidden amongst the grass, passing by without so much as pausing. Once the sound of the blades had grown faint Vincent stood up, helping Linda up as he did so. She seemed a bit annoyed at the interruption and the rather reckless way he had knocked her down but she didn't complain.

Vincent watched as the helicopter grew to be a speck in the distance against a backdrop of blue sky. There was a chance it would be back but until then the two of them had some chance to take a break. The thought that the helicopter was spearheading some sort of large patrol crept into the prawn's mind, inclining him to start walking again.

"Vincent, wait a minute!" Linda snapped, still brushing herself down from their brief time hiding in the grass.

Vincent stopped, giving the prawn equivalent of a sigh as he turned around.

"What?" He asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of his clicks and from appearing in his overall stance. He was beginning to doubt the reason he had brought her along in the first place. If he had known she would be this much trouble he wouldn't have bothered taking her along, even if he did like her…a lot.

"The service station," she said, stepping towards him, "I think I know where it is. Come on, this time you're following me." She cheerfully poked the prawn in the chest but Vincent only eyed her carefully, trying to work out why she found this idea so amusing. The smile on her face quickly faded as she started heading towards the highway.

Vincent would have preferred that they keep to the grass and not walk along the road where they'll be the most visible. He didn't have much of a chance to say much since Linda was already halfway to the desert highway by the time he started following her.

As Vincent tagged along behind her he thought he heard her mumbling under her breath, swearing a fair bit as she trudged her way through the long grass. Vincent noticed that she had become distinctly roughed up since he had first seen her today. Her hair was messy, giving her a rather tough and rugged look. Her clothes were dirtied in places with a few spots of blood from what had happened in the MNU APC.

Vincent still had a slight limp but he had since bandaged up both his leg wound and shoulder wound. Both still throbbed but his prawn physiology was better equipped to deal with slight injuries like these. They would heal soon enough, just as long as they didn't get infected.

The pair arrived at the highway a short time later. The sun's heat radiated off of the tarmac, making the air over the road hotter than it was anywhere else. Linda stopped by the side of the road and looked down both ways, starting along it in the direction that leads further away from Johannesburg.

There didn't seem to be many cars, something that would probably work in their favour. If any ordinary driver saw a prawn walking along a countryside highway no doubt they would think that something was amiss. If there was trouble, Vincent always had the Beretta pistol. In order to look less suspicious he tucked it away into his leather jacket, keeping it hidden from sight. The weight of it in his jacket felt reassuring, providing an improved sense of security. He felt rather confident that if there was any trouble he would be able to get out of it with help from the human sidearm, even if there were only eight bullets left in it.

"Do _you_ know where you're going?" Vincent asked. Linda stopped momentarily, glancing at him with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, I do," she replied, her tone blunt.

"Just asking," Vincent chirped and then fell silent. Linda started walking again and Vincent resumed following her, able to feel that the heat of the sun was beginning to warm up his exoskeleton. He realized he had no water supplies on him, something that worried him somewhat. If they didn't find the service station soon he thought he may end up collapsing from the heat. That wouldn't be good and it would also be rather embarrassing. Linda was probably in the same sort of circumstance seeing as her bottle of water was close to empty.

"What if someone drives past?" Vincent asked, deciding to quit thinking about what could happen without water. Having a conversation on an entirely different topic would undoubtedly help get his mind off of the more downbeat and realistic matters. "What are they going to think when they see me out here?"

"Probably nothing," Linda replied as they walked. She had some noticeable confidence in her stride, obviously with full knowledge on where she was going. "They'll probably think that you being out here is someone else's problem entirely. And they wouldn't be mistaken in that regards."

Vincent could only see the logic in this. Humans could be naïve and somewhat stupid creatures, often unable to determine the blatantly obvious. He had heard stories of human homes being robbed in broad daylight, only for none of the neighbours who might be witnessing the robbery to do nothing about it. It was somebody else's problem, apparently.

It wasn't long before the service station came into view, nestled in the shade of some tall and rather old looking trees. It was still a fair distance away but now that it was visible both the human and the prawn picked up their pace. The service station was a refuelling stop and a mechanic's garage, as well as a convenience store all in one neat establishment. From here Vincent could make out the rather small and square grey structure, as well as the double garage that was the mechanic's place. A few cars of differing designs and colours were parked outside, hinting that there was activity at the modest establishment.

"See, I told you I knew where I was going," Linda said, sounding proud of herself. Vincent didn't reply, instead he glanced down the road behind them. He was thinking that someone, maybe from MNU, might come driving down the road but he realized that this was just paranoia.

She stopped, reaching into one pocket. She retrieved her wallet just as Vincent stopped alongside her, looking down at the wallet as she opened it up and counted the money inside it.

"We should be able to get a decent amount of supplies with this," she said once she had counted up the money. She put the wallet away, looking at Vincent.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

Vincent, his mind having wandered slightly, was abruptly brought out of his thoughts by her question. He looked down at her and shook his head, unable to help but feel that the sun was beginning to get rather hot.

"Well, uh…"

"Are we going to steal a car?" Vincent asked, nodding in the direction of the service station, "You know, from there?"  
Linda thought about this for a moment and simply shrugged.

"I'll leave that up to you, seeing as you have the gun," she said. Vincent remembered that he did have the Beretta pistol safely tucked away into his jacket. He had almost forgotten about it.

Vincent took Linda's response as a "yes", they were going to have to steal a car. It would be a fairly long drive to District 10 and getting inside without being found out by MNU would be tricky, but not too tricky. Vincent had done it before and he was fairly certain that he could do it again, seeing as the MNU people who kept guard at the district could be somewhat slack. He just had to find the other prawns who were high-up in the resistance and warn them that MNU was onto them. No doubt that MNU people were already on their way to the district now with the intention of tracking down the insurgents.

Both Vincent and Linda resumed walking, arriving at the service station several minutes later. Vincent proceeded to hang around in the shade around the back of the building, keeping out of sight of the few humans who were seated out the front enjoying a lunch in the sun. Linda went on inside to start buying supplies, effectively leaving the nineteen year old prawn by himself in potentially hostile territory.

Around the back of the service station's main building were some cool areas under the shade as well as a dumpster and numerous piles of junk. A tap was set into the wall and Vincent turned it on, taking a lengthy drink from it as well as splashing some of the cold water onto his face and neck. It didn't help much but the temporary relief from the heat was worth the effort.

Vincent had no idea as to how long Linda would be so he simply climbed up and sat down on top of the closed dumpster, taking the opportunity to check on his injuries. A quick glance under the bandages at his left leg revealed that the wound had congealed into an icky and partially clotted black mess. He couldn't tell if it had become infected or not but the pain he felt when he touched the partially clotted bullet wound hinted that it had. He would need medical supplies, yet he doubted the convenience store here sold this sort of thing.

The wound at his shoulder was in better shape, having been a mere graze that had cut open a small part of the exoskeleton there. That didn't hurt too badly, hinting that he would fully recover from this simple injury. The one at the leg though, it worried him. The last thing he needed was an infected leg wound.

A few metres to his right was a window set into the back of the building, close to the roof. The smell from within indicated that it lead into the service station's public toilets. The more he thought about it the more he found he needed to pee.

He stood up and limped over to a spot near one of the piles of trash bags and old cardboard boxes. Carefully he unzipped his tattered cargo pants and began to relieve himself, taking the time to urinate all over one of the cardboard boxes just to see what would happen. Nothing interesting occurred.

He had only been out here a few minutes but it felt like it had been far longer. Vincent, now relieved of his liquid burden, zipped up his dirtied cargo pants and stepped over to the corner of the building. He leaned around the side, watching as a human man with greying hair while dressed in blue grease-stained overalls wandered past. He disappeared into the nearby garage, spanner in hand as he went on to resume his repairs on the car within.

Vincent found that he was beginning to get impatient. Here he was, forced to hang around outside some service station while waiting on Linda. She could be an hour and he would be stuck out here, having to stay out of sight in order to prevent any trouble from starting up. He was already feeling rather bored.

_Hurry up Linda,_ Vincent was thinking, _There's nothing to do out here._

As the minutes ticked by Vincent began to start thinking, as he usually did when he had nothing better to do. He thought about the events of the day and how the day itself was far from over. It was only about lunchtime after all, there was still a fair amount of "day" left. They still had to get to District 10 and contact the resistance (or the rebellion, or the insurgents…There were many names for them).

Vincent's slowly developing train of thought was broken by a loud bird-call from nearby. He turned around, noticing that there were several native birds grouped up in the nearby tree. None seemed particularly interested in him and instead the birds tweeted and cooed absently, oblivious to his presence. He watched them carefully for a minute or two before losing interest, returning his gaze back around the side of the building just as another vehicle pulled up out the front.

His heart leapt when he saw the nature of the vehicle: it was an open-top Jeep, one that was painted white with 'MNU' printed on the side in large black letters. A blonde-haired human in typical MNU mercenary gear was driving. He parked the vehicle just out the front, greeting one of the humans seated outside before climbing out.

Vincent ducked back behind the building, trying to work something out. No doubt by now both his and Linda's descriptions were all over MNU's networks and had been sent out to all their personnel in the region. Linda was still inside the building seeking out supplies…If that mercenary saw her and recognized her as the woman that MNU had an arrest warrant on no doubt he would arrest her. And then he would search for Vincent, assuming that the prawn would be nearby (and he would be correct in this assumption).

Vincent still had the Beretta pistol. He pulled it from where he had tucked it into his jacket, gripping it tightly in his right claw as he tried to work something out. He couldn't just walk in and start shooting…the mercenary was probably armed. Vincent had eight bullets while the mercenary had a rifle and several magazines with him. Vincent managed another peek around the side of the building, watching as the mercenary started for the entrance.

_Shit, I've got to pull Linda out of there._

Walking in through the front would just be asking for it. The humans outside would react to his presence and the mercenary would come out, see him and probably shoot him. He may try to arrest Vincent but when he saw that the prawn had a gun he may change his mind.

Vincent remembered the window nearby that lead into the toilet block. It had probably been left open to air the place out and it was something he could use to his advantage.

He stepped over to the window, finding that he would have to climb up in order to squeeze inside. He tucked his pistol back into his jacket in order to free up both claws before taking a step back. In a few bounds he jumped up and grabbed hold of the windowsill, ignoring the pain that shot through him from his wounded leg. He grunted as he pulled himself up and through the surprisingly narrow gap, the hardened shell of his back scraping against the top of the window frame. One of the small protruding spikes at his back snapped off and yet more pain shot through him, seconds before his centre of gravity was now on the other side of the window.

He fell and landed with a dull _thump_ on the tiled floor. Dazed only momentarily he rose to his feet, taking in his surroundings while he took out his Beretta pistol again. Something at his back was now stinging profoundly, yet another injury (today just wasn't his day) to add to his total.

The toilet block was mostly green, with dark green tiles and cubicle doors. There were two cubicles and one large metal urinal while suspicious stains marked the floor. Vincent found that he was standing in a puddle of something that was cold, wet and slightly yellow. Stepping out of it he started towards the door, pushing it open slightly as he peered into the shop beyond.

He saw Linda standing in between two of the aisles nearby, carrying a box full of water bottles under one arm. She seemed mostly absorbed in what she was looking at, oblivious to Vincent's presence.

Vincent shifted his gaze towards the counter and saw that the mercenary was speaking rather cheerfully with the elderly man working at the counter.

"…and, so you know what I fookin' did, huh?"

"What did you do?"

"I shot the fookin' prawn right between the eyes!"

The mercenary laughed heartily, eventually joined by the elderly man.

"Anyway, enough about that shit. Uh…could I have a cappuccino?" The mercenary asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"Sure," the man at the counter said and stepped over to the coffee machine that was on a shelf behind the counter. He began preparing to make a coffee, leaving the South African MNU mercenary with little else to do but wait.

The mercenary was yet to notice Linda and Linda was yet to notice him. Vincent quietly tapped on the wall near him, getting Linda's attention. She looked up, saw him and managed a slight look of surprise. She stepped towards where Vincent was hiding, eyeing the prawn carefully.

"Vincent, what the hell are you doing in here?" She whispered, some annoyance clear in her voice.

"Take a look at the counter," Vincent replied, just as quietly. Linda did as he said and managed a rather worried frown when she saw the mercenary.

"You think he's after us?" She asked.

"How am I supposed to know?" Vincent asked.

That was when the mercenary's voice rang out rather loudly. Vincent shut the door slightly, hiding himself from view as the mercenary approached Linda. He seemed to be smiling, eyeing the woman carefully as he took in every curvature of her body. Vincent saw through the gap left in the door that the name 'PIER' was printed on the front of the mercenary's vest.

"Hey, what's ah pretty lady like yah doin' in a shithole like this?" The mercenary asked, his tone inviting. Linda made it clear she wasn't interested.

"Piss off," she said.

The mercenary, Pier, was completely unfazed and simply smiled.

"Easy there," Pier said. He held out one hand, intending to shake with hers. "My name's Henk Pier…"

"Could you just leave me alone?" Linda asked, annoyed, "I've got stuff to do…"

"Like what?" The mercenary obviously couldn't take no for an answer. He also didn't seem to be aware of the search that MNU was carrying out in order to find and arrest both Linda and Vincent, otherwise he wouldn't be trying to hit on her.

"I could help," Henk Pier said, looking at the supplies she was already carrying, "it certainly looks like yah doin' some heavy shoppin'…"

"Hey, Henk, your cappuccino's ready!" The old man at the counter exclaimed suddenly.

"I'm fokkin' busy!" Henk shouted, annoyed. He returned his gaze to Linda, finding the young woman's feisty attitude rather likeable.

Vincent had the Beretta pistol pointed through the slight gap he had left open in the door. He trained it in Henk Pier's direction, thinking that he could simply plug the moron and thus allow himself and Linda to get out of here.

"I like yah attitude lady," Henk said and one hand went to her face. Linda stepped backwards immediately, repulsed by the mercenary's move. Vincent pulled open the door, angered at the sheer nerve the human had. Did he seriously think he could touch her?

Vincent stepped from the bathroom with the Beretta held out and trained at Henk Pier's head. Henk seemed to freeze for a moment, taking in the prawn's presence and appearance before finally grinning.

"A prawn," he said, almost in disbelief, "a fookin' prawn way out here! And he's got a gun! Where the fook did yah get that, yah dumb shit?"

Linda stood next to Vincent, smiling at the mercenary's suddenly vulnerable position. The man at the counter was watching with wide eyes, trying to work out why a prawn was in his store.

"Is that even loaded, yah shithead?" Henk asked mockingly.

In response Vincent shifted his aim away from the mercenary and fired. The shot rang out loudly throughout the store while a can of baked beans on a nearby shelf exploded. Henk's smile seemed to falter momentarily.

"Linda, take his weapons," Vincent said. Linda approached the mercenary and cheerfully took the rifle he had slung around his shoulder, as well as his Beretta sidearm and any spare magazines. Henk seemed to watch the woman with some disbelief.

"Yah in league with this fookin' prawn, huh?" Henk asked, "What are yah? His fookin' whore?"

Linda froze when she heard this. Without any sort of warning she brought the butt of the rifle she had taken from him into the mercenary's face with considerable force. Henk crumpled to the floor, blood seeping from his broken nose while Linda happily kicked him in the ribs.

"You fookin' bitch! I'll kill you! And I'll kill yah fookin' prawn boyfriend, yah whore!" Henk roared angrily from where he lay, but he didn't do anything. He simply held his broken nose in one hand, trying to stem the blood flow.

"Let's go," Linda said, turning her back on the injured mercenary. Vincent agreed with this plan and followed her outside. From behind Henk continued to yell and swear at them, delivering usually incomprehensible insults in his thick accent.

There were a few people out here, one of which was quickly dialling his mobile phone for the police. Vincent swiped the expensive phone out of the man's hands before waving the Beretta pistol in his face. Linda kept her rifle trained on the elderly couple who were seated at a table nearby.

"Which car's yours?" Vincent asked the dark-haired man who had had the mobile phone. He seemed like the businessman type, dressed in a white shirt, tie and dark slacks.

"Uh…What?" The businessman had no idea what Vincent was saying.

"Linda, I need some help with this one," Vincent asked, getting Linda's attention. She stepped over to him, training her rifle on the frightened businessman as she delivered their demands in English.

"Your car…which one is it?" She asked, her tone stern and straight-to-business.

The businessman nodded towards the silver four door parked nearby.

"That…one…" He gulped, scared out of his wits. A wet patch appeared at his crotch, signifying his fright.

"Give me the keys," Linda demanded. She waved the rifle in the businessman's face. Vincent saw the anger in her eyes, having never quite seen anything like it. She actually seemed to be serious in what she was saying and that probably meant that she was serious in using the weapon.

The businessman fumbled briefly in his pocket for the keys, handing them over to Linda once he had them. With that done both Vincent and Linda approached the silver four door, Linda using the keys to unlock the doors. She climbed into the driver's seat, dumping the supplies she had gathered onto the back seat. Vincent sat himself down in the passenger seat, having some trouble fitting his legs in the space provided. Once they were inside they closed the doors, Linda sticking the keys into the car's ignition. A quick turn later and the engine rumbled into life.

"Uh…" The businessman ran over to the side of the car, sounding a little breathless.

Vincent eyed him carefully, keeping the Beretta pistol trained on him as the prawn wound down the window. Damn, it was hot inside the car. Linda started up the air conditioning, having noticed the heat as well.

"Before you leave, could you toss me my pills? They're in the glove-box…" The businessman sounded serious about this. Vincent pulled open the glove-box and found the small white plastic container that contained the pills in question. He thrust them into the human's hands seconds before Linda floored the accelerator.

The businessman was left standing in a cloud of dust as his car sped away, now officially stolen. Vincent sat back in the seat, relieved that they had gotten through that alright. Now all they had to was get to District 10.

"That was fun," Linda commented as she turned the car onto the road.

Vincent didn't say anything in response to this. He was busy thinking that he might have become somewhat protective of the woman, especially after what they had done together. He had been more than willing to step in and defend her from Henk Pier back inside the store…It would be logical to conclude that he was in love with her.


	21. Colonel McTavish

**Colonel McTavish  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1330 Hours

About five hundred metres from the perimeter of District 10 was the MNU mercenary facilities, consisting of a few barracks and other typical amenities (mess hall, sick bay and so forth). The largest of the buildings was the reasonably sized estate that was nestled against a hill, belonging to a certain Colonel George McTavish. It was a typically white and grey double-storey house, complete with a swimming pool and well-trimmed lawn. It provided a sharp contrast to the yellow desert grass that went on throughout the countryside.

The house was home to the ageing and somewhat disgruntled Colonel, as well as home to a few of the higher-ups who worked at the District. They even had servants, prawn servants of course since human ones went out a number of years ago. Currently the greying-haired Colonel was seated by the swimming pool, dressed in a set of bright yellow board shorts and a blue Hawaiian shirt. He lay back on a seat by the pool, taking in the bright sunshine of the South African countryside while awaiting the arrival of the drinks he had told one of the servants to go and get him. He checked the antique watch he wore on his left wrist (his grandfather had given him that watch, it was worth a fortune) and saw that it was about one thirty in the afternoon. No doubt that specialist team from MNU would be arriving soon. Should he go and get dressed into something more suitable? He reached the conclusion that if they wanted to speak to him they could meet him out here.

Colonel McTavish had served in the British SAS and had done his fair share of killing. When he had gotten a bit too old to be out in the field he had quit, instead taking on a job as a mercenary to whoever was willing to pay for his services. MNU had been more than willing to hire him and at first McTavish had figured that he might be put on some interesting assignments while getting paid a bucket-load of cash. Instead he had been put in charge of keeping security within District 10, a shithole of a place that was out in the middle of nowhere. He was understandably upset that his career had taken this turn but this anger had quickly subsided into standard resignation. He happily exploited the insane amount of money he was paid to keep the security here running and instead used it to buy himself things he wanted, such as the swimming pool and about five prawn servants who were actually good at following orders. He had himself a massive collection of DVDs as well as a home theatre system and when he wasn't stuck doing paperwork he was watching whatever took his liking (usually television shows he had sine purchased on DVD), such as _MacGyver_ or _NCIS_. He also had a sizeable collection of Steven Seagal movies, despite the fact that the former blockbuster star had seen better days (and been in better movies).

In regards to the apparent terrorist ring the prawns had, he couldn't care less. Colonel McTavish was being paid to keep security here in District 10 along with his contingent of dumb-ass mercenaries. This sudden rise in prawn insurgent actions didn't concern him at all. Seriously, what did MNU expect when they treated the aliens like dirt anyway? Someone was bound to get annoyed enough to actually try fighting for freedom, this much was obvious. His problem was keeping District 10 locked down tight, not that he cared much about that anyway. The prawns could do whatever they wanted, as long as it didn't bother him. Sometimes he would complain to MNU about the lack of funds and other resources they were giving him, if only to make it look like that he was trying to do his job. He loved scamming the MNU morons out of more money whenever possible and had been doing it a fair bit lately.

His mercenaries were mostly idiots. Then again, most mercenaries were never too intelligent. They were usually more concerned with shooting stuff and blowing things up, not that any of them got much of a chance to do that. The only good mercenary under McTavish's command was Marinus Venter, a Captain. This seemed logical though, since Marinus' older brother, Koobus, had been one of MNU's best combat specialists. Too bad Koobus Venter had been torn to shreds by angry prawns, a sign that the guy hadn't been invincible as he probably would have believed himself to be. That was the trouble with some of these mercenaries: they thought they were invulnerable.

The competent military gene probably ran in the family, hence Marinus' overall intelligence and ability to get the job done. He was a tough man but a reasonable one, although McTavish had a feeling that if left to his own devices Marinus would probably cheerfully go on a prawn killing rampage.

Recently the MNU head honchos, the type of bureaucrats who thought they knew best, had been pressuring McTavish into taking action to determine who the main prawn terrorists were and whether there were any human sympathisers involved or not. McTavish had been given a fair amount of documents concerning what to look out for and which prawns he should detain and question. Naturally McTavish hadn't cared much for this job and had happily handed over the documents and orders to Marinus Venter, thinking that the Captain would take a liking to the job. Unfortunately it seemed that once again MNU had gone back on their word, deciding to form some specialist team to combat the terrorism specifically. Hence, Marinus' new job was obsolete. And now McTavish was being made to wait around for this specialist team to show up, just so he could tell them the obvious: the state of the district, any suspects they might be aware of and so forth. Apparently there was some American Colonel in charge of the team, a Colonel Keller. Hopefully this American Colonel was a somewhat competent military man, otherwise McTavish might just lose complete faith in MNU's hiring practices. It seemed that most of MNU's employees were morons (except for him and Marinus, of course).

Earlier on, at about lunchtime McTavish had called Marinus to his office. The Captain was going to be this new team's guide to the district once they arrived, and thus he would have to cooperate fully with Colonel Keller and his men. They were coming down to do a job that McTavish cared little about, seeing as this prawn insurgency business didn't bother him. Let them blow up MNU facilities, it's not like anyone outside of the corporation would care.

All McTavish wanted to do was continue living the easy life, leaving all his paperwork for others underneath him to complete while he scammed money from MNU every now and then to add to his monthly pay. He still had another two seasons of _MacGyver_ to purchase so he was eagerly awaiting his next pay check. In the meantime he could lounge around in the sun and have drinks, usually something like scotch or whiskey.

On his lap was the day's newspaper, today's edition unsurprisingly filled to the brim with lies concerning the prawns that MNU had been kind enough to feed to the media. Were there prawns kidnapping people on a regular basis? You bet there were! And yet, ask any of the supposed witnesses and chances are they wouldn't be able to form a cohesive story about the kidnapping since it had never actually happened. The more lies MNU fed to the media and thus the more people seemed to think that the prawns were a dastardly alien menace. Well, the prawns might be a tad ugly, a tad smelly and a tad stupid but they weren't _all that_ bad. McTavish's servants seemed to have a good grasp of how to do their job, save for the one incident where one of the servants had decided to eat McTavish's cat. That had hurt the Colonel's feelings a fair bit and thus that prawn had been thrown back into the district, left to fend for itself and presumably resume living like the rest of its race.

McTavish wiped the sweat from his brow, placing the newspaper on the table next to where he sat. He looked up and saw that one of the prawn servants, this one dressed in a neat grey apron, emerged from the glass sliding doors ahead. It held a tray that contained a bottle of scotch and a glass, just as McTavish had ordered a few minutes earlier. This particular prawn was a light brown, almost beige colour and seemed to have a lighter frame than most of the others he had seen. Chances are it was a female, yet it was hard to tell gender apart.

The prawn placed the tray on the table near the Colonel. McTavish nodded in acknowledgement, taking the bottle and using it to fill up the glass.

"Thanks," McTavish told the prawn, "why don't you go help yourself to the cat food stash in the pantry? It's going to be a long day today, I think. You'll need the energy."

The prawn understood this perfectly and walked briskly back into the house. McTavish sipped from the glass of scotch he had poured himself, frowning at the taste. Still, he drank it despite the fact that he was suspicious as to what the prawn had done to the drink. He was always suspicious of the servants anyway. Sometimes he might catch them talking (being prawns, they tended to click and chirp than actually "talk) amongst themselves, as if scheming. If they tried anything he wouldn't hesitate to order his guards to kill them. They were just prawns after all.

He put the glass down, turning his head to look towards the tall black metal fence that went around the garden and pool area before connecting with the rest of the house. The district was some distance away and from up here McTavish could gaze down upon the tents and shanties, often comparing himself to the King or looked down upon his kingdom from his castle.

So, his career had taken him from decorated SAS officer to King of the bloody prawns. How could that have happened? Maybe getting into MNU had been a somewhat bad move, even if life here was easy. He preferred getting in on the action, getting right into the thick of it. Nothing much seemed to happen that he could get into the thick of, instead forced to run things from this pretty house while his mercenaries worked down in the district. How many deaths had occurred amongst the mercenary force in the past year? He thought about this for a moment, able to feel the statistic on the back of his memory.

Nine, that was it. Nine dead mercenaries because these nine had picked the wrong prawns to intimidate. It wasn't uncommon for the mercenaries to prey upon the one, only for about a dozen others to come along and fight the mercenaries in order to protect the intended victim. It took a sizeable and heavily armed force of mercenaries to take on a large group of frenzied prawns and even then the prawns could take a fair amount of punishment before going down.

Nine dead was just proof that the mercenaries that worked here were morons. McTavish didn't like it when mercenaries were killed, primarily because of all the paperwork he had to fill out in the event of a mercenary's death. He hated paperwork. He had been thinking of training one of the prawn servants to do it for him but this would have been too much trouble. Teaching an alien how to read and write actually required effort, effort that McTavish wasn't too interested in expending.

The radio that McTavish had left on the table along with the newspaper and drinks tray suddenly crackled into life, the voice from one of the mercenary's who were currently guarding the front of the house filtered through the speakers.

"_Uh, Colonel, there's someone out here who wants to see you,"_ the mercenary said, sounding a tad uncertain.

McTavish grabbed the radio and flicked open the channel, frowning as he did so. Then again, he had an idea of just who might want to see him. He assumed it was to do with that MNU specialist team and he was proven correct in this assumption.

"Who is it that wants to see me?" McTavish asked. He fiddled with the expensive sunglasses he wore, taking them off and placing them on the table. He took another sip from his glass of scotch, regardless of how poor it tasted.

"_He says his name's Keller, sir. Colonel Keller. He says that you're expecting him…"_

"Send him in," McTavish replied. He _was_ expecting a Colonel Keller to arrive. No use denying the man entry; such an act would only just cause trouble.

McTavish didn't know what to expect in regards to Colonel Keller. Americans were all idiots in his opinion. They all seemed to think they could just march into any situation and boss the people involved in it around, even if the Americans had no business in getting involved. The Vietnam War was the first example McTavish could come up with when he thought about this. McTavish had a feeling that today would be no different.

McTavish sat up, thinking that he might try and pretend that he was actually doing something other than lounging around. Of course, this idea was quickly forced into the back of his mind since he realized there was no point in pretending. He was lounging around…so what? What could this Colonel Keller do about it? McTavish was boss around here and no one could argue with that.

It was a few minutes before a rather stern, greying haired man with dull blue eyes and weathered features walked out onto the outdoor pool area from the house. He was dressed in light grey MNU combat gear, complete with a bulletproof vest and fatigues. The name 'KELLER' was printed in small letters at one side of the vest. Colonel Keller wandered out through the sliding glass doors, a cigar sticking from one corner of his mouth.

Keller took in his surroundings with a careful examining gaze before he started towards McTavish. He seemed to be grinning while puffing a few times on his cigar. McTavish instantly felt suspicious of the Colonel but didn't bother saying anything about it. There was something about the man, something that indicated that he was maybe hiding something…As if he had one too many secrets.

"This is certainly a nice place you have here," Keller said, his accent sounding Texan, maybe Arkansas. He was definitely from the southern United States, McTavish just couldn't be sure of where from that region exactly.

"Let me guess: MNU gave you the money to build this fine estate?" Keller asked, delivering this with a slightly sarcastic tone.

McTavish only frowned at the obvious smart-alecky persona of Colonel Keller. Keller laughed aloud suddenly and rather abruptly, delivering a chuckle that cut through the relative silence like a knife through butter. The laugh ceased after a moment or two and Keller held out one hand in order to shake with McTavish.

"I'm Colonel Francis Keller," the American said, "I'm in charge of the new Anti Alien Terrorism Squad…"  
McTavish ignored the open hand, uninterested in shaking with Colonel Keller. Besides, he was thinking: Anti Alien Terrorism Squad? What the hell was all that about and how come he hadn't heard of it? Usually no news concerning MNU slipped by his ears. He was, after all, in charge of the corporation's fine establishment known as "District 10".

"Whatever you say, Colonel Keller," McTavish said, unimpressed. Why was there an American in charge of it anyway? Why, Marinus Venter would have made an excellent lead…There weren't many Americans around here, then again there weren't many Brits like himself around either.

"You must be Colonel McTavish," Keller said, unfazed by McTavish's disinterest.

"Yeah, I bloody well am," McTavish said. He looked up at the Colonel, able to tell that there was maybe something hidden behind that friendly demeanour, something far more ruthless…those dull blue eyes gave it away, appearing as cold and emotionless while supplying a rather sharp contrast to the rest of his face.

"You run the security here at District 10, right?" Keller asked.

McTavish simply nodded.

"Yeah…"

"Usually I would expect someone like you to be filling out paperwork," Keller continued, frowning slightly, "and yet you're out here, lounging around by a swimming pool. What's with that?"

McTavish shrugged. No use denying it: he spent most of MNU's funds on himself and not on keeping security at District 10. The prawns could run rampant, he didn't care as long as they stayed out of his way. So far none had bothered him and he had been running the security here from the beginning, which had been about three years ago. Back then he hadn't had much of an estate as he did now. The more he thought about it the more he discovered just how frantic those early days running security here had been. There had always been trouble with runaway prawns or angry prawns or just plain violence from the prawns. Prawns, prawns, prawns…It seemed everything he heard about now had something to do with the aliens.

"Paperwork's for fucking squares," McTavish said bluntly. He eyed Colonel Keller carefully. "Let me guess: instead of 'Keller' they call you 'Killer', eh? You seem the type…"  
Keller shrugged. He didn't seem too fazed by this remark and in fact looked a little flattered.

"Not really," Keller said, "well, at least, not too often. Besides, I only arrived in this country the night before last. I haven't had much of a chance to kill any prawns, if that's what you're wondering."

McTavish found this fact only a little strange. Usually MNU would get someone already in the country to run a new team…Unless Colonel Keller was damn good at his job. Chances were that he was damn good at his job, otherwise they wouldn't have bothered flying him in.

"Why are you here for, eh?" McTavish asked, deciding to quit with the small talk. He had never been much of a fan of small talk and Keller didn't seem the type for it either. It was about time they got down to business…Whatever that business was.

"I'm here to do your job," Keller said, smiling. McTavish had a moment's thought where he actually believed he was being replaced. He was about to complain and swear a fair bit at the same time before Colonel Keller spoke again.

"Don't worry," Keller said, noticing the sudden twitching in McTavish's frown, "I'm not replacing you. Nobody's replacing you. The MNU executives think you're darn good at what you do…Although they probably don't know about the spending you do with their money on the side, you know?" Keller paused, grinning as he did so. "I passed by your DVD collection on my way through the house. Quite impressive…I didn't think someone like you would like Steven Seagal movies…Did MNU funds get you all of those DVDs, or just some of them?"

McTavish relaxed a little, despite the fact that Keller was being a smart-arse.

"Some of them were purchased with money out of my own bloody pocket," McTavish replied, deciding to clarify this point. Was Colonel Keller actually going to get to business or just annoy him? It was hard to tell: Keller seemed to be enjoying himself.

Keller smiled, pulling the cigar out of his mouth as he did so. He held it in between two of the fingers of his right hand, the tip burning away slightly as he rolled it around in his grip.

"Why the fuck are you here, Keller?" McTavish asked before Keller had a chance to say anything else. Keller paused, considering the question for a moment as he determined a liable answer.

"As I said, I and the people I'm in command of are here to do your job," Keller replied. Without even asking if it was alright with McTavish, Colonel Keller dabbed out the burning end of his cigar on the newspaper on the table. A thin wisp of smoke billowed forth and a burnt, scorched hole appeared on the front page right in a smiling photograph of Jonas Lochaeen, the Director of MNU's South African branch. He was posing with a few other smiling officials, a few that McTavish recognized from previous news stories. MNU seemed to be all over the news these days…In fact, they probably controlled the media. There was no use speculating about it: they _did_ control the media.

"We have evidence that there are nonhuman terrorists operating from within District 10," Keller said, "and since you effectively run the place I thought it best to see you first before I and my team move in to start…_cleaning_ out these terrorists. I want to find out if you know anything we don't, like suspects…"

"Suspects?" McTavish frowned. There were a lot of suspected prawns and even more prawns that were probably involved. There was no way to determine whether or not a prawn was involved unless they were caught with weapons or equipment they had no license for.

"Bloody hell, we have a lot of suspects," McTavish said, "We just don't have the resources to arrest them all and interrogate each and every one of them…"

"In other words, you're lazy," Keller interjected in a rather blunt manner. McTavish felt a pang of annoyance but he realized that there was no use in denying it. He _was_ lazy and as well as that he didn't care much about the whole prawn terrorist business. Just as long as they didn't try killing him and they could go out and do whatever they wanted.

"Don't worry about singling anyone out in particular. I already have a suspect in mind," Keller said, "I suppose you've heard of Wikus van de Merwe?"  
McTavish thought about this for a moment. Sure, he had heard the name and the rumours that were flying around concerning this man…Just what he had to do with anything was unknown.

"Isn't he the MNU field operative who disappeared a few years back?" McTavish asked, needing clarification.

Keller nodded. He didn't seem too fussed about it, keeping a level gaze as he reached into one pocket at his trousers and removed a folded-up sheet of paper. He carefully unfolded it, handing the sheet to McTavish. The ex-SAS Colonel looked at the photo and writing printed down the page, frowning as he did so. He recognized the prawn in the picture as the one that he had assigned Marinus to find earlier today: it seemed that Keller was after the same one.

"Willis Harrison…" McTavish read the name aloud, scratching at his moustache as he spoke.

"I'm fairly confident that 'Willis Harrison' is a rather unimaginative false name," Keller said, "In actual fact, I believe the prawn pictured here is Wikus van de Merwe…Just not the man he once was." Keller chuckled when he said this, twirling the burning cigar around in his fingers as he let McTavish digest this information.

"And he's here, in District 10?" McTavish was almost incredulous to what he was hearing. A wanted fugitive was living in the district…Well, there was no surprises there. But wasn't Wikus a human being? And yet Keller was implying that the prawn pictured was in fact this Wikus guy…under a false name, living amongst the prawns in the district.

McTavish shook his head. He hadn't expected much to happen today but now, after hearing this, his day was ruined. He was faced with a crackpot American Colonel who believed that some random prawn was in fact a human fugitive.

"Are you fucking crazy, Keller?" McTavish handed the sheet back to the Colonel, shaking his head. "This is all just one big crock of shit. You expect me to believe that this Wikus fellow…He's a prawn? How does that work?"

"That's exactly what I want to find out," Keller replied somewhat casually, seemingly unsurprised by McTavish's reaction. "Hence why I want you to cooperate…I _need_ you to cooperate. We find this guy and we'll most likely find the upper echelon of the prawn insurgent organization. And once they're out of the way there won't be anymore prawn terrorist attacks, at least not as many as there are now. And chances are we'll both get promotions, rewards...Anything MNU's willing to give us, which could be quite a lot. I know that with the money involved we could probably both retire. I certainly can't wait, that way I might be able to go and see my grandkids over in Phoenix. As well as buy a nice house like this one, albeit in a place closer to civilization…"

McTavish looked up, losing his frown when he heard the part about rewards and promotions. Regardless of the sheer absurdity of what Keller was proposing it seemed that there might be something in it for him, something that he couldn't pass up. MNU was undoubtedly backing Keller and this anti terrorism team whole-heartedly, hinting that maybe there was some truth to what Colonel Keller was saying. A human turning into a prawn? It was sheer insanity, but even so some of the rumours McTavish had heard seemed to hint towards the insane and absurd.

"I and my team need to go into the district and search for this prawn, this 'Willis'," Keller said.

"Well, when I heard you were coming I had a feeling you'd want to go into the district," McTavish said, "It's a shithole if you ask me but it's not me that's going in there, it's you." McTavish smiled, pausing for a few seconds before continuing. "I take it you and your team's members are armed and properly equipped? A lot of shit goes down in District 10, let me tell you that. I've lost a few men to what goes on in there already."

Keller nodded, slapping the butt of his holstered .44 Automag pistol for emphasis.

"One of my men, a Captain Marinus Venter, he'll be able to show you around," McTavish said.

"Venter?" Keller frowned.

"Yes, Venter. He's the best man I have, other than myself." McTavish couldn't help but smile again. He quickly lost the smile when he saw that Keller wasn't at all amused with the joke.

The sliding doors up ahead opened and one of the prawn servants, this one dressed in some dirtied grey trousers, emerged. Keller watched it curiously but McTavish had been expecting it, since it was about time it started watering the gardens here. The prawn stepped over to where the garden hose was winded up and began to unwind it, turning on the tap it was connected to before guiding the stream of water onto the nearest flower bed.

"Nonhuman servants, huh?" Keller said, watching the prawn go about its work, "Never thought I'd see that."

"Well, it's not uncommon down here in South Africa," McTavish replied, "In fact, having prawns as servants is becoming all the rage, if you don't mind the cliché. That's why I thought I should have some of my own, especially since they're cheap and seem to learn quickly. They get the hang of whatever you want them to do rather easily, you know. They're smarter than you might think…"

Keller turned back around, still keeping a neutral gaze but one that was slightly tilting towards bemusement. It seemed that Colonel Keller wasn't big on showing emotions. Over in one corner of the backyard the prawn was spraying water onto some well maintained ferns.

"There's a lot of things you'll need to get used to down here in South Africa, Colonel," McTavish said, "the presence of aliens is one. There are about three million of them living down in District 10. I'm sure you knew that, Colonel?"

"I knew that," Keller replied. He put the cigar back in his mouth and puffed on it gently before sucking in as much of the smoke as he could. The cigar itself was looking rather short, most of it having since burned away over the few hours that Keller had been using it.

"So, let me get this straight: You're here to find the one prawn in particular? The one you think might be a human…In what? Disguise? Because that's fucking stupid, but even so I'll play along with it. Obviously MNU's backing you up a fair bit." McTavish leaned forward slightly as he asked the question.

"Not a human in disguise, Mac," Keller said, delivering a nickname that McTavish hadn't heard for many years, "You see, Wikus van de Merwe _is_ a prawn."

McTavish scoffed when he heard this.

"There's more to why you're here," McTavish said, "More than just finding the one prawn, isn't there? Regardless of whether this prawn is this Wikus guy or not…"  
Keller nodded, blowing on his cigar as he did so. Up above, a helicopter buzzed overhead.

"Yeah, there is more to why I'm here," he said.

"Oh yeah, like what?"

Keller shrugged.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," he said. There was a brief moment's silence, a silence that was backgrounded by the sound of the garden hose spraying onto the garden and the occasional chirp from the prawn working the hose. And suddenly Colonel Keller erupted into laughter, cheerfully patting Colonel McTavish on one shoulder.

"I'm only joking, Mac!" Keller exclaimed. McTavish was left a little bemused but otherwise didn't say anything, letting the Colonel pat him on the shoulder.

Keller continued to chuckle for a fair few minutes afterwards. McTavish was slightly confused and slightly unnerved but the allure of monetary rewards kept him interested in whatever nutty scheme Keller was part of.

"Now, where's this Marinus guy you mentioned?" Keller asked, his laughter ceasing rather abruptly, "I want to meet him and get this whole thing started."

McTavish nodded and picked up the radio from the table near his seat, switching it on. He noticed that Keller was now watching the prawn that was watering the garden with some interest.

_What a strange man,_ McTavish thought.

"Hey, Marinus, are you there?" McTavish spoke into the radio and unsurprisingly he didn't receive an immediate response. "Marinus, you prick, can you hear me?"

"_I hear you_," Marinus Venter replied, sounding a little annoyed.

"Get off your arse and get down to the southern gate into the district," McTavish said, "Colonel Keller and his team are here and you're going to be their guide into the district, as well as help them out whenever they ask you to. You got that?"

"_I got it."_

McTavish switched off the radio and looked up at Keller again.

"He'll be waiting for you down by the—"

"South gate?" Keller finished, "Yeah, I heard that."

He eyed McTavish briefly before turning around and to head off and leave. McTavish put the radio back on the table and sat back in his seat, satisfied with what had just occurred. If all went well with Keller and his team MNU might reward them…And McTavish really wanted to add a few extensions onto this house, he just didn't have quite enough money to do it yet.

"See you later, Mac," Keller called as he disappeared back into the house, heading on his way to the front of the estate.

"Have fun in the district, Colonel," McTavish shouted back. With that Keller was gone from view, leaving McTavish alone out here with only a prawn for company.

District 10 was a shithole, just as dirty and slummy as District 9. McTavish, with his prawn servants, was doing his part to help some of the aliens into a better life. Sure, they might be doing the housework for him but doing housework was probably better than living in a slum.

McTavish pondered over what Keller had discussed, still not quite sure about what to think when it came to this Wikus van de Merwe business. Then again, he didn't care too much as long as he got his rewards in the end. Without much further thought on the matter McTavish took up the bottle of scotch from the table, unscrewed the lid and downed the rest of the beverage without hassle.

The prawn with the hose wandered by, intent on finishing its job. McTavish looked at it, snapped his fingers to get its attention and pointed over to a garden bed off to the left of the pool.

"Don't forget about that spot, alright?"

The prawn nodded and McTavish resumed lounging around on the seat by the swimming pool.


	22. Wikus

**Wikus  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1320 Hours

"Open up."

Lawrence Davis tapped with one claw onto the door of one of the few larger shanties in the district. Seated nearby was an elderly, light-brown coloured prawn who seemed to be watching the younger one closely. That prawn was always here, watching the world go by from the slightly worn out fold-up chair. Lawrence knew the old prawn was here just to keep watch for the others who were inside the shanty, warning them of any approaching MNU mercenaries.

A gentle warm breeze billowed by, rattling the hanging ornament that hung from another shanty nearby. Lawrence waited a moment before knocking again, finding the delay unsurprising.

The visit by Marinus Venter earlier had left both Lawrence and his grandfather suitably unnerved. Marinus had been searching for one of them in particular, the one known in MNU records as Willis Harrison. Of course, Lawrence knew that this was a false name that the prawn had adopted to avoid unwanted attention from MNU. It would be best to warn Willis about the interest MNU had in him, even if Lawrence knew that Willis would care little about it. He seemed somewhat withdrawn, even if he had been living among them for almost three years.

Lawrence knocked again.

"It's me, Lawrence," the young prawn announced, "Open up."

Lawrence had always been an active member of the resistance, even if he was only young. He had made himself the sort of "weapons expert" that any self-respecting resistance organization needed and had a rather handy knowledge of human weapons technology. Guns had always fascinated him and he had developed his knowledge of them over the last few years, becoming quite fluent with the way they worked and how to handle any sort of firearm he was given. He had become responsible for organizing the resistance's supplies of firearms, storing what they got into hidden places such as the underground compartment back at his grandfather's tent.

Of course, he knew better than to walk around holding a gun in public. That would just give the MNU mercenaries who kept security around here an excuse to shoot him.

"Is there anybody in there?" Lawrence heard himself asking, knocking on the door again. This time he rapped on it harder and faster, unable to but feel his patience wearing thin. Somewhere behind him a pair of prawns fought each other over a can of cat food.

Finally the door opened, revealing the lighter coloured and more slender frame of a female. Lawrence tried his best to keep his overall demeanour business-like but he couldn't help but feel a little anxious when faced with this familiar female. She was a light brown colour, bordering on beige with a much lighter build when compared to a male like Lawrence. Her eyes were a light golden-yellow colour, the type that seemed to glow with an inner luminosity that hinted at her overall vitality.

"Iris…Where's Wikus? Something's come up…" Lawrence found himself looking into the female's eyes, unable to remove his gaze from them. He knew he was perhaps hoping for too much from her since she seemed to like Wikus/Willis far more than she liked him. Sure, she was a good friend and all but she didn't share the feelings Lawrence had for her.

"Lawrence," Iris acknowledged. Behind her the inside of the shanty appeared to be well-tidied, typical of Wikus. He had a habit of keeping everything so tidy, even if none of the other prawns bothered.

"Can I come in?" Lawrence asked. Iris stepped aside, allowing him entry into the fairly large shanty (it was less like a shanty and more like a small house when Lawrence thought about it).

Inside the house things were neat and relatively clean. There were a few open windows that allowed sunlight to stream in, brightening up the relatively dim interior. To one corner was a battered wooden table, covered with discarded newspapers and tattered books. A few cans of cat food lay on the same table, having been there long enough to gather much dust. Wikus had never been one for cat food, although Lawrence saw the cans and felt the urge to grab them.

"What's come up?" Iris asked, closing the door behind him. Lawrence swivelled around to face her, the scent she was giving off hinting that she was concerned. It showed in her eyes and once again Lawrence found himself staring absently into them.

"Uh…Something to do with the mercenaries. Seems that they want Wikus for questioning…"

"Questioning?" Iris emanated a scent to display her concern while bristling her antennae appropriately. "What for?"

"I don't know," Lawrence replied. He turned back around and started for the table, picking up one of the cans of cat food that were lying there.

"Can I?" Lawrence asked. Iris nodded and immediately Lawrence pulled open the can, keeping it gripped in one claw as he used his free one to dig out the contents. He carefully shovelled some of the gunky cat food into his mouth, chewing happily and loving the taste at every bite.

At the other side of the room was a large shelving united, one that took up most of the wall there. It was filled with books and numerous trinkets, as well as some items that could very well have been deemed "junk". At least, they appeared to be rather pointless items. There were a few flowers constructed out of metal and Lawrence couldn't determine just what the point of them was.

"Where is he?" Lawrence asked, swallowing the cat food he was chewing on.

"Down below," Iris replied.

It took Lawrence a moment to realize what she was referring to. There was a whole room underneath the shack, the type that had an entrance hidden from immediate view. Lawrence had been down there a few times in the past, storing weapons and removing weapons whenever a big operation was being carried out. Some might have considered it the central hub for the resistance and this would have made a fairly accurate description.

Lawrence shovelled the rest of the cat food from the can into his mouth, chewing it down rather quickly. He had always been a fast eater and he had always been a rather heavy eater as well. Without much thought he tossed the empty can away before picking up another one from the table. He pulled this new one open, beginning to work on eating the contents.

"You should take it easy with the cat food," Iris said. Lawrence turned his head, looking at her with a somewhat innocent gaze.

"Why? It tastes great…"

"There's a reason why I don't eat it," Iris replied. She seemed concerned, but whether this was for Lawrence or for Wikus was hard to determine. Lawrence gave the prawn equivalent of a shrug and continued eating, beginning to feel that slightly light-headed sensation he always got while eating cat food.

"Wikus went off of it shortly after we arrived here," Iris continued, "I think he knew it wasn't good for him. I doubt it's good for you, either."

There was an awkward silence as Lawrence paused while he was eating, realizing that Iris was making a good point. Cat food had differing effects on every prawn and there was some evidence that it had the ability to pretty much destroy the physiology of a Popleekwa if enough was eaten in a certain period. Lawrence put the half eaten can back on the table, feeling a little guilty all of a sudden. He would probably just stick to whatever supplies MNU brought in, although most of those supplies consisted of cat food anyway. It was impossible to get away from it and sooner or later Lawrence wouldn't be able to stop eating the stuff. It was somewhat addictive, more so with some prawns than others.

"Well, I…uh…guess I'll just have to start not eating it," Lawrence said, although chances are he'd be back on it soon enough. It seemed to be one of the few constants here in District 10, along with poor living conditions, dirty water and constant violence.

"Do you know what he plans on doing with what was found?" Lawrence asked, deciding to change the subject. Iris considered the question, knowing full well what the young prawn was referring to.

"I thought you knew…"

"Yes, but will it work?" Lawrence gave the prawn equivalent of a frown. He could tell that Iris was not at all sure about this. The machine that had been recovered from the MNU convoy seemed to be worse for wear, so much so that Lawrence doubted it would ever work again.

"I don't know," Iris replied. She shrugged. "There's no way to know…"

"Is there still a body inside it?" Lawrence asked. He had only seen the machine, the stasis pod as it was often called, on a few occasions. He had never been close enough to get a good look into it and the glass-like dome was far too dirty on both the inside and the outside for such a look.

"Whatever was inside has since decayed," Iris said, "besides; the opening mechanism has all but ceased working. Chances are we'll never get it open…"

"He doesn't want to think that, does he?" Lawrence asked. He could see that Iris seemed somewhat resigned to not ever getting the old Popleekwa medical machine running again. His grandfather, Carl, seemed to know a fair bit about their technology since he had been on the ship when it had come to Earth. Apparently he had helped one of their leaders into one of the machines when this leader had been close to death. The stasis function would keep the leader alive for a prolonged period, but after three decades of being stored in an MNU facility somewhere it seemed the machine had ceased working. The leader inside was dead and had since rotted away, leaving nothing but sticky black ooze. At least, this was what Lawrence thought was inside. Hence why it was important that MNU not be allowed to get their hands on it, seeing as it was literally full of the very stuff that had lead to Wikus van de Merwe's physical transformation.

"He's determined," Iris said, sounding somewhat inspired by this fact. Lawrence could tell that she did like Wikus, even if the "ex-human" didn't show the same interest. "But determination can be misplaced sometimes."

Lawrence nodded. He remembered the attack on the convoy, having been with the group when they had set out from the district to intercept it. They had used a few stolen human vehicles to get to where they had needed to be, setting up an ambush for the convoy. The firefight had been quick and relentless, leaving all but one of the MNU mercenaries dead. The survivor, it seemed, was being held captive down in Wikus' private lab.

"Yes, I guess it can be misplaced," Lawrence replied. Determination was something that could be good in some cases and bad in others. Being determined in anything was good but being so determined, especially in a futile gesture, could simply lead to trouble.

Lawrence found himself looking into her eyes once again. Maybe there was some mutual attraction there, he could see it in her bright eyes. His heart had began beating rather quickly and he tried his best to keep his demeanour neutral. He was anxious, especially when around a female like Iris. He was always anxious around members of the opposite sex and he knew he was somewhat of a hopeless romantic. He had his fantasies as did everybody but something told him that this was all he would have unless he got his act together. Even being around Iris made him nervous but even if she noticed this about him she wasn't saying anything about it.

"Is something the matter?" Iris asked suddenly. Lawrence shook his head, trying to clear his mind of the rather raunchy images that flowed throw it.

"No, not really," Lawrence said, even if there was a lot on his mind. Getting laid was something that was at the forefront of it.

Iris eyed him carefully, trying to work him out as she started over to the large book shelf. Lawrence followed, watching as Iris bent over and pulled aside some of the rubber matting. Lawrence's eyes went down the whole length of her body while she worked on opening the large trap door under the floor. Dirt slid off of the door's metal as she pulled it open, revealing a rather large opening that looked down into a brightly lit dug-out room. A set of steps lead into this hidden room and Iris turned around, gesturing for Lawrence to come over.

"He's down there if you want to talk with him," she said and Lawrence followed her down the steps and into the familiar confines of Wikus' hidden sanctum.

There were numerous candles and some battery powered lighting set up, all of which provided much illumination to the sizeable room. In fact, it was perhaps as big as the shack it was under but with less clutter and even tidier. Recently Wikus had been spending increasing amounts of time here, perhaps either on the verge of a breakthrough with regards to the pod or trying to gain a breakthrough that could never be reached.

Seated in one corner was a young human, his mouth gagged with thick grey duct tape. He was tied to his chair and he seemed to be asleep, breathing heavily through his nose. A few empty plates and glasses were at the floor near his feet, hinting that Wikus was keeping him well-fed. The mercenary looked a little dirty and beat-up but otherwise he seemed fine. The name that was printed on one small part of his vest was 'McDOUGALL'. Lawrence remembered having been there when Wikus had knocked this mercenary out cold. Why they had bothered taking prisoners was beyond him, although Wikus probably intended to use this man as some sort of bargaining tool if the need for one ever arose. Better to be prepared than to be unprepared if they ever needed to strike a deal with MNU.

The stasis pod/medical machine was located in the centre of the underground room. A few cables trailed off of it, connected to old portable batteries. The machine itself was fairly cylindrical in shape with a few sleek curves, including the glass dome that took up most of its top. The dome had been cleaned up since they had got it, although the inside of it was still covered with a congealed black substance, as if the prawn that had once been inside had exploded and splattered the interior with itself. The machine was taken up with a few control panels, all of which had since shut down over the years that it had been left in disuse. This machine would have once sat in one of the medical bays aboard the ship, connected to the ship's internal power supply. Such a power supply would have been able to keep the dying prawn that had been inside it alive for a near indefinite period. However, obviously some MNU scientists who had travelled aboard the ship had decided that it would have made a good souvenir and had removed it from the ship, severing its connection to the power supply and thus killing the prawn leader that had been inside of it.

Whatever happened next was all just speculation. The Popleekwa leader inside would have died a slow and probably painful death before decaying, perhaps bloating and thus splattering the inside of the pod with bits of itself. The humans would have had little idea as to what the machine was for and how it operated and would have simply stored it away, leaving it forgotten about…until now.

Now it was here, looking worse for wear (it was dented and scorched in places, let alone dirty and with control panels that no longer lit up) while one prawn in particular attempted to determine the secrets to its operation. There was little chance anything would come of it but only a week or so had passed since they had got it. All Wikus needed was more time…or he had given up already, it was hard to tell when Lawrence looked at him now.

"Wikus," Iris said. She chirped the name with obvious infatuation and Lawrence couldn't help but feel a little disheartened at this. She liked him far more than she liked anyone else, even if Wikus seemed damned ignorant of the fact. He didn't seem to be interested in her at all, something that didn't surprise Lawrence seeing as Wikus still had a human persona. What interest would he have in a Popleekwa female?

The prawn in question sat at a battered wooden desk just up ahead, scraps of paper lying discarded across it. He had more of a dark brown, almost black colour tone with golden-brown eyes to go with it. He wore a tattered pair of light brown trousers while his left arm had a few dirtied bandages wrapped around it. Lawrence had always been confused over why Wikus even bothered to wear the bandages but he assumed it was just a reminder…a reminder about what he once was and how he had become what he was now.

Wikus didn't seem to be doing much right about now. He looked up from the papers at his desk, eyeing Iris carefully before shifting his gaze to Lawrence. There was some animosity there, Lawrence could see it in his eyes. Almost three years living among them and he still hadn't completely gotten used to the fact.

"Something's come up," Lawrence announced, deciding to get straight to business. The sleeping mercenary who was tied up in the corner seemed to stir at the sound of Lawrence's chirps and clicks.

"I'm busy," Wikus said simply before returning his gaze to what he had been doing at the desk. Lawrence saw that he was carefully folding up a sheet of aluminium, one that had once formed a soda can but had obviously been sliced to form one flat piece.

"It's about Venter, you know? He's looking for you…" Lawrence asked. Wikus seemed to pause when he heard that name.

"Which one?" Wikus asked.

Lawrence gave the equivalent of a frown. Which one? Which one did he think? There was only one Venter in District 10…

"Uh…There's only one…"

"There were two fokkin' Venters once," Wikus snapped harshly. He looked once again to Lawrence and the young prawn took a slight step back, unnerved by the ex-human's sudden anger. Iris, on the other hand, didn't react. Instead, she seemed to be used to hearing this sort of thing come from Wikus.

"There were two?" Lawrence wasn't quite following. Wikus continued to fold the aluminium, his claws working it with an almost professional finesse. He was missing a claw on his left hand, presumably an injury he had received from a previous battle. It didn't seem to impair his progress with the aluminium though.

"Forget it," Wikus said, shaking his head. He added some finishing touches to his handiwork with the aluminium, revealing that he had shaped it into a sort of bird-like figure, complete with spread wings and carefully folded tail. He pushed the expertly crafted figure aside before he turned around where he sat and looked at Lawrence with only slight interest.

"Marinus Venter was looking for you," Lawrence said, deciding to get straight to business, "He wanted you for questioning."

"Why the fuck would they want me for questioning?" Wikus didn't sound too happy. Then again, he had never been very happy with the way things were here in District 10.

"I don't know…"

"I guess he didn't say what it was about?"

Lawrence shook his head. Wikus sighed and his gaze went briefly over to where Iris was standing. She seemed to brighten up at the attention and spoke, almost in awe of the ex-human.

"Any progress?" She asked.

"No."

"Oh…" She sounded disheartened. Wikus stood up after the exchange was complete and walked over to the machine, gazing intently at the glass while trying to work his gaze past the black gunk that was stuck all over it on the inside.

"It doesn't fucking work," Wikus said, more to himself than anyone else. He used one clawed hand to tap the glass carefully, as if thinking over why his life had taken a turn for the worse in recent years. The answer to solving his somewhat dreary life lay in front of him, yet the machine apparently no longer functioned.

"If they want you for questioning," Lawrence said, "That means they may suspect who you really are…"

"They wouldn't want me," Wikus said, glancing towards the young prawn, "I'm no good to them like this. They probably suspect me of running this whole insurgent business…but I'm only doing it for myself. Helping you prawns out is secondary."

Lawrence wasn't surprised to hear this. The machine had been what Wikus had been after for the last few months upon learning about its existence from a contact in MNU. He only needed the help of other prawns to get it, the convoy being the perfect opportunity to strike and acquire the medical machine.

"Don't say that, Wikus," Iris said, stepping forwards. Lawrence watched as she approached the volatile prawn, placing one arm around his stomach area in an effort to comfort him. Wikus fought himself out of her grip, shooting her a mean glance. Iris didn't seem too fazed by this though.

"I can say what I fucking well want!" He was certainly losing his temper now. He looked towards Lawrence, ignoring Iris' subdued upset chirp. The female did seem a little taken aback by Wikus' sudden anger but Lawrence, on the other hand, was barely fazed. Ever since Wikus had come along Lawrence had learned to cope with his volatile moods.

"This is a piece of fucking junk! It doesn't even fucking work! FUCK!" He slammed the side of the pod and it resounded with a loud _clang!_ The sleeping mercenary tied up in the corner opened his eyes, suddenly awoken. He started writhing about in the ropes that tied him while attempting to speak. The duct tape over his mouth prevented him from forming anything understandable.

"_Hrrmpf! Yurrmmmf furrrmfing shmmrrf!"_ The mercenary said angrily.

Wikus, now as angry as he had ever been, stepped over to his desk and picked up the aluminium bird. He tossed it at the mercenary and the sharply cut aluminium struck a gash in the mercenary's head before falling to the floor. The mercenary, McDougall as the name on his vest read, grunted with pain but otherwise fell silent.

"Shut the fuck up!" Wikus shouted.

The mercenary continued to struggle against his bonds. Wikus was about to start walking towards him but Iris grabbed him on one shoulder, making him stop.

"Don't do anything you'll regret, Wikus," she said, her voice calm but controlling.

Lawrence was surprised to see Wikus calm down when Iris said this. It seemed the female did exert some control over the ex-human. Lawrence felt a little out of place here, thinking that these two did have something between them. He doubted it though, especially since Wikus was always making gifts for that human female of his.

The mercenary ceased struggling, having already tired out by his incessant attempts to escape. He watched the trio of prawns carefully, looking a little perplexed but otherwise listening to all that was being said. He was probably still trying to work out what he was doing here since no one had cared enough to explain this to him.

Wikus looked towards Lawrence, some anger still evident in his golden-yellow eyes.

"Does Marinus know I'm here?" He asked, "Or is he still looking for me?"

"He doesn't know and I don't think he'll be searching anymore," Lawrence replied, "He was called back to McTavish's office. I'm not sure why, though."

Colonel McTavish effectively ran District 10. They all knew who he was although not many of them had seen him. He preferred to stay at his estate outside of the district, running the place from a safe distance as to not put himself at risk.

There was a silence as the trio thought these things over. In the corner, Patrick McDougall resumed the battle against the ropes that tied him to the chair. He wasn't successful as was usually the case and stopped trying after about thirty seconds.

"Are you sure it doesn't work?" Iris asked, nodding towards the pod. Wikus only nodded in response, somewhat resigned to whatever he had discovered about it.

"There's no fucking chance it'll work, not after all these years of being off a power supply," Wikus said, "and I haven't got enough fucking resources to try getting it to work. If Christopher was here he might know what to do…"

One month from now and the three year mark would arrive. It would be three years since Christopher Johnson's departure back in 2010. He had promised to return, whether it be by himself or with help. MNU preferred to think he would never return but Wikus believed otherwise.

"What do we do with it then?" Lawrence asked, "It was hard enough getting it in here without being found out. How do we get rid of it without being discovered? If MNU catches us with this…"

"The shit will hit the fan," Wikus finished, somewhat bluntly, "Yes, I know. And we can't let them get it, no matter what happens."

Lawrence gave the prawn equivalent of a frown when he heard this. There was obviously more to it than he was seeing, he could tell this much.

"Why? What's so special about the pod? It doesn't work, so why would MNU have any use for it?"

Wikus tapped the glass again, indicating the sticky years-old black ooze that was congealed on the inside of the pod. Lawrence took note of this, as did Iris, but he couldn't see what Wikus was getting at. It took a moment for the first connection to form in his mind concerning the black ooze…

It had been what had caused Wikus to change from human form and into a prawn. It was what powered the ships of the Popleekwa race and was understandably rather volatile stuff. It was most obviously derived from the Popleekwa themselves, although Lawrence knew very little about the technology of his species. He knew how to handle a typical prawn weapon but most of the other technology of his race he had no idea about. Most of what had been recovered off of the ship was in possession of MNU, stored away to be researched or just to simply gather dust. What little of this ship technology that had been found by the prawns was either here in this room or simply lost for good. Several Popleekwa weapons lined one of the walls of the room while a few pieces of technology were scattered on the desk and the shelf at the far end.

"That's not any fucking ordinary gunk," Wikus said as he indicated the black ooze inside the pod, "That's the leftovers of one of your leaders…The ones that do most of the thinking for your race, the intellectuals, scientists, so forth. They're the ones that probably built your ships. If MNU got hold of even a single drop of that…Whatever it is they might end up with the super soldiers they've always wanted. Of course, I'm just speculating…I have no real fucking hard evidence to back this up."

"Super soldiers?" Lawrence was confused, although Wikus seemed dead serious as he spoke about it.

"Yes, it's one of MNU's long term goals," Wikus said, "And they're not afraid to cut up your kind to find out what makes you tick."

"'Your kind'?" Iris asked, "You're one of us. You are one of 'our kind'."

Wikus seemed to bristle at the mention of this. He didn't seem to like this idea, even if he was a prawn or a Popleekwa, whatever name he preferred. Iris still had a clawed hand on one of his shoulders and was caressing his exoskeleton there gently. Wikus didn't seem to pay much attention to this, busy thinking over what to do about the medical machine. Lawrence felt a little disheartened once again by Iris' obvious liking for the ex-human.

Why would she like him better than a "true" prawn, one who was born this race and would stay as this race? Lawrence quelled these thoughts, realizing his grandfather's cranky rambling talks were beginning to get soaked up by him. He didn't agree with a lot of what his grandfather said, especially when it concerned females.

"It's been almost three years," Iris continued, emanating a scent that helped put both males in the room at ease, "you should have accepted…"

"I don't fucking accept shit," Wikus snapped, wriggling out of her grasp. Iris looked hurt but she didn't say anything.

And in the corner, Patrick McDougall did his best to remain calm. At least, he managed to remain calm despite the fact that he had just wet himself.


	23. Into the District

**Into the District  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1330 Hours

Standing by the southern gate into District 10 was Marinus Venter, a CR21 rifle slung around one shoulder and a Beretta pistol in a holster at his waist. Behind him was a wide, tall metal gate set into a long wire fence and to the right of him was the guard house for this particular entrance/exit into the district. There were numerous other ways to get into District 10 and the prawns had made a few ways for themselves, somehow remaining unseen by the patrolling guards as they made holes in the fences and dug tunnels, sort of like in that World War Two film _The Great Escape_.

District 10 had a fair few elements that made it resemble a concentration camp, including wire fences and guard towers that swept searchlight beams over the streets of the district at night. Curfew was at eleven o'clock pm (2300 hours) and any prawns caught outside after that time were liable for arrest and, if they caused trouble, were liable to be shot. Some guards did patrol inside the district but were often slack and did little about the constant violence that went on between prawns. The more that killed each other the less there were to worry about, as the thinking amongst MNU personnel went.

Above Marinus the near cloudless sky went on as far as the eye could see. The sun was up high and rather hot, bearing down harsh sunlight on the somewhat dry landscape that surrounded the district. The air itself was warm, including the breeze that occasionally billowed across the region.

Lukas Farber saw Captain Marinus Venter standing up ahead as he emerged from the rear of the white MNU APC. The engineer was followed by several mercenaries, including Will Slater and Samuel Marshall. Colonel Keller emerged as well, once again puffing on an expensive cigar as he started towards Marinus.

Lukas had been expecting a sort of concentration camp style affair but he was somewhat surprised by the sheer size of the district. This was merely one gate and beyond the gate were winding narrow streets, clusters of tents and shanties and many wandering prawns of differing colours, shapes and sizes. It was practically a massive town, covering a sizeable portion of the South African landscape. Apparently there were almost three million aliens living in District 10. This would no doubt explain the size and somewhat crowded conditions inside the district, as well as why a force of two hundred guards had plenty of trouble keeping security tight. They were simply stretched too thin and instead were forced to concentrate their efforts on guarding the perimeter in order to make sure no prawns went in or out. Of course, many somehow managed, hence the reason there seemed to be a fair few living out in the countryside.

The young prawn, or "prawnling" as most people called them, had been locked up in a small but reasonably sized portable holding cage. Lukas had been against the idea but Colonel Keller had more or less ordered him to do it, believing the creature to have the potential to cause unnecessary trouble. It seemed to have fallen asleep, lying curled up inside the cage like a cat. It didn't seem to mind the confines of the cage, finding it far cooler inside it than out in the heat.

Lukas placed the cage gently on the ground, stretching his aching muscles. Being forced to sit in the back of a rather cramped APC for a few hours as they drove out here had taken a toll on his overall mood. Where he had been his usual mild-mannered self earlier, now Lukas was somewhat irritable. There had been some relief on the way out here as they had stopped off in a small town to get something to eat before later piling themselves back into the APCs to resume driving to District 10. Now that they were here Lukas wasn't entirely certain on what to think, or do for that matter since Keller hadn't said much about what they would be doing when they arrived.

Keller had hinted that they would be seeking out one prawn in particular, having mentioned that this one was probably fairly high up in the insurgent organization. During the drive Keller had treated the team to several anecdotes, most of which were about him and missions he had carried out previously in countries such as Iraq and Venezuela. He seemed to like the sound of his own voice, even if most of the other mercenaries would have preferred that he shut up.

Upon arriving here Keller had gone to speak with the man who ran security here at District 10, some British guy by the name of McTavish. With McTavish's authorization they were permitted to enter the district and do whatever it is they were here to do. McTavish had apparently been kind enough to supply them with his best mercenary, Marinus Venter, in order to help them out as they went into the district.

Keller had started towards Venter, leaving the mercenaries to wait around several metres behind him. Lukas looked around, surveying his surroundings and thinking that they were effectively out in the middle of nowhere. Aside from the district and the nearby mercenary facilities, savannah and open plains rolled on for as far as the eye could see. A few dirt roads winded their way across the countryside, some leading back onto the main highways that traversed the country. District 10 was as far removed from human civilization as it could possibly get, this having been one of the main reasons for the eviction of the prawns from District 9 in the first place. Some people figured that this solution wouldn't last, considering it an "out of sight, out of mind" solution. The prawn population would continue to grow until finally District 10 could no longer contain all of them. Sooner or later someone would need to come up with a much more long-term solution.

Lukas glanced into the prawnling's cage, noticing that the young alien was still asleep. He felt like an idiot carting it around but he knew he couldn't have just left it behind in District 9, especially since it seemed so fixated with him. He felt obligated to help, even if it meant that he was responsible for it until he found a suitable home for it somewhere in District 10.

Today was turning into a fairly long day. This morning, when Lukas had arrived for work he hadn't figured he would end up taking a drive out into the countryside in order to go to District 10. Then again he figured it was just part of this new job of his, being in this new specialist team as a "field engineer". He still felt out of place amongst the armed mercenaries, even if he was becoming friends with two of them (Will and Samuel).

Keller was talking to Marinus, greeting the mercenary in his usual friendly manner as he described what he was here for to the Captain. Marinus Venter didn't seem too interested, probably having been made to guide the team through the district by McTavish. It was probably something that Marinus would have preferred to not do, as was evident in the rather disinterested look he had on his stern features.

Sarah Taylor, one of the few mercenaries that unnerved Lukas, was standing nearby as she twirled her combat knife about in her right hand as she often did. She seemed to be an expert in handling the weapon, spinning it around in her hand with a professional finesse that hinted that she had gotten a lot of practice with it.

"Hey Lukas, you still carrying that thing around with you?" Will's voice brought Lukas' attention to him. It took a moment for Lukas to realize what Will was referring to.

"Yeah," Lukas replied, gesturing to the sleeping prawnling inside the portable cage, "why not?"

"I just don't see the point," Will said.

Lukas shrugged. What was the point? He thought about this, trying to work out if there was indeed any point in finding the prawnling a new home. The conditions in District 10 were just as bad as they were in District 9 but at least there was food and water to go around. The prawnling would be better off here, Lukas thought, even if he had a feeling that it would be difficult to part with it. He had only known it for the last few hours but he couldn't help but feel responsible for it, especially after he had helped patch up its leg wound after the incident with that mercenary, Godfried, who had tried shooting the young prawn.

"I feel responsible for it," Lukas said, "Leaving it in District 9 just didn't seem like the right thing to do…"

"Lukas is just a caring guy," Samuel said with a grin, "And there ain't nothing wrong with that."

Will simply shrugged, not too concerned about the matter. Over by the gate Keller was still talking to Marinus and had removed a sheet of paper from one pocket. He handed it to the Captain, allowing him to read through the information printed on it as well as take in the photo. It seemed that they were once again after one prawn in particular, just like they had been in District 9.

Vincent Matheson, the prawn they had arrested back in District 9, had apparently escaped from the APC he was being transported in. Keller hadn't seemed too concerned about this, instead arranging for MNU to start a search while he went on to business here in District 10. Now they were after another prawn, probably one that was somehow involved with the insurgents as Vincent had been.

"I heard all kinds of bad shit happens in there," Samuel said, nodding towards the gate and the district beyond it. Lukas simply nodded, able to understand why.

"What do you mean?" Will asked.

"There's always someone getting killed," Samuel said, "Usually prawns. And the mercenaries that work here…They're a bit overzealous. They kill aliens for the fun of it…"

"That's not surprising," Will said, "I mean, some of the people in our team kill prawns for the fun of it. Just look at Sarah or Hermes. Those two have some serious problems with getting along with the aliens."

Samuel shrugged.

"Maybe so, but District 10…Well, it's a shithole to say the least."

Nearby, the technician's van rolled up and parked near the APCs. Keller looked up at its arrival and he and Captain Venter started walking towards it. Keller pointed at Sarah to follow them as well and the trio passed by where Lukas was.

"Hey, Lukas, you're with me," Keller said, pointing at the engineer.

Lukas looked up, surprised. He grabbed the handle on the portable cage, thinking that he would be heading into the district pretty soon. Marinus watched him carefully and the coldness in the man's eyes unnerved Lukas quite profoundly. Then again, most of the mercenaries here unnerved the engineer.

As the four of them went for the parked tech van Keller's mobile phone started ringing, emitting a rather clear sounding version of the _Star Trek_ theme. Ignoring the odd looks he received from Marinus and Sarah, Keller reached into a pocket in his trousers and removed the mobile phone. He placed it to his ear and pressed the "call/receive" button, the music ceasing as he proceeded to listen to whoever was calling. All the while the group walked to the rear of the tech van, the door's opening as they approached.

Lukas felt a little out of place once again but he figured that Keller needed him for something, probably to do with whatever they were going to do in District 10.

"Ah, Houser, I had a feeling you'd call," Keller said into the phone, his tone friendly. He gestured to the three others with him to follow him into the tech van. Lukas left the portable cage containing the prawnling just outside the van, tagging along behind the group by a few paces. He wasn't too sure who this "Houser" guy was that Keller was talking to but he figured it was some MNU associate or friend of Keller's.

"Yes, we're making progress," Keller said in response to something Houser said, "We're at District 10 now. I have a feeling we're coming close to the ring leader, as well as Item 072…Yes, I'm arranging a satellite scan now."

He nudged one of the technicians seated in the rear section of the van where the computer screens and panels were. Lukas was a little confused as to what was happening but watched anyway, trying to work out just what was going on. Marinus seemed a little confused as well while Sarah kept her face emotionless, resuming her spinning of the knife around in her right hand.

Keller spoke to the technician, removing the phone from his ear momentarily.

"Get one of our satellites to run a thermo-scan of the district," Keller said, "Look for any anomalies."

"This has been done before," Marinus said, his voice edged with doubt, "Nothing's turned up…"

"You just didn't know what to look for," Keller said, turning his gaze to the Captain.

"Uh…Why am I here?" Lukas couldn't help but ask this question, feeling like he was out of the loop. Keller simply looked at him and smiled in his usual manner.

"You're going to help me with something, Lukas," Keller said, "We just need to get a location first."

"And you think this prawn…Willis Harrison, is involved?" Marinus asked, "I tried looking for him earlier today. He's hiding somewhere and his prawn buddies are refusing to say where. They're fucking planning something, I know it. I didn't think they were smart enough to plan anything…"

Keller put the mobile phone back to his ear, ignoring Marinus' statement. Lukas, Sarah and Marinus watched as the technician worked the computer he was at, the display changing to what appeared to be an infra-red satellite view of the sprawling district from orbit.

"Our orders have changed?" Keller frowned as he heard whatever it was that the man, Houser, had said. "I understand. Find the item, find the prawn and…" Keller's eyes scanned the three others with him. Lukas felt a pang of anxiety from the way the Colonel looked at him.

"I'll call you back when it's done," Keller said and ended the call. He pocketed the phone and shifted his gaze back to the computer screen as the satellite, probably an MNU one, proceeded to run a scan of the entire region. What for, Lukas had no idea. He watched with some interest anyway, thinking that all would be revealed soon enough.

"Who was that on the phone?" Sarah asked, speaking for what seemed like the first time in hours.

"My boss," Keller replied.

"You have a boss?" Lukas was unable to stop himself from asking the question and immediately felt like an idiot for saying it. Regardless Keller replied, keeping his gaze neutral as he watched the computer screen in front of them.

"Of course I have a boss," he said, "There are people higher than me, as much as I would prefer otherwise." He managed a slight chuckle but it ended abruptly as the image on the computer inflated, the satellite zooming in on one point in particular.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Marinus asked, "MNU's tried this sort of thing before. There's nothing out of the ordinary…"  
"When was the last time they ran a simple thermo-imaging scan?" Keller asked, his eyes narrowing as he peered at the screen. There were hordes of orange dots amongst the blue-grey backdrop, the orange indicating sources of heat (most of them prawns).

"Last week," Marinus said, "They run them every fortnight. They know that if there was anything out of the ordinary, like illegal power sources, it would show up on the thermal imaging…"

"Last week?" Keller frowned. "Not recent enough." He tapped one section of the screen, indicating a slight but suspicious looking haze of orange that was hovering over one shack in particular. Lukas saw it but had no idea what it could mean.

"What's that?" Marinus asked.

"A suspicious heat signature," Keller said, stating the obvious. Marinus seemed to shake his head. The technician seated at the computer tapped a few keys and the image inflated as the satellite zoomed in. As the image zoomed in the heat signature became slightly clearer, revealing it to take up much of the shack it seemed to be emanating from.

"It could be anything," Sarah said, her voice tinged with doubt.

"Yeah, it could," Keller said, the first signs of a smile forming at the corners of his mouth, "but it's the only suspicious heat signature in the entire district. No one's got any fires on since it's a hot day. No, this signature could very well be what we're looking for, even if it is faint."

"It's worth checking out," Keller said. He flicked on his radio before anyone else could say anything.

Lukas gathered that this was all part of the plan. Obviously there was going to be alien technology involved, hence the reason why Keller needed him to come along. The heat signature could very well have been anything but it was the only anomalous one in the entire district according to the view provided by the satellite. Keller seemed to have already made a decision and was barking orders to the other squads over the radio. The technician, meanwhile, made a note of the location and handed this note to the Colonel.

Once Keller was finished the other mercenaries outside had begun to file back into the APCs. Keller started out of the van, followed by Marinus, Sarah and finally Lukas. Lukas made sure to pick up the portable cage before following the three towards the desert coloured Jeep parked up ahead.

Samuel and Will were heading into one of the parked APCs and both looked up as Lukas passed by.

"What's going on?" Samuel asked.

Lukas shrugged, still not too sure about this himself.

"They're found something on the satellite imaging," Lukas said, "I'm going with the Colonel to check it out."

"It could be alien technology," Will suggested, "why else would they need you?" He paused for a moment, noticing Lukas' frown. "Uh…no offence…"

Lukas didn't take offence, nor did he know what to think concerning the possibility of alien technology but he nodded along with Will's suggestion anyway. This was moments before he resumed following Keller and the others. Marinus had climbed into the driver's seat of the Jeep, and had started the engine. Keller climbed into the passenger's seat while Lukas sat down in the back, resting the cage on his lap while Sarah sat down next to him.

"Lukas," Keller said, turning around moments before the Jeep started moving.

"What?"

"Are you seriously going to keep hauling that critter around?" Keller asked, pointing at the cage.

Lukas could tell that Keller didn't really approve of Lukas' plans for the prawnling but he wasn't about to let Keller influence his decision on the matter. Inside the sound of the Jeep's engine started had awoken the prawnling and it had gotten up, chirping excitedly at Lukas for no apparent reason.

"I'm going to leave it in the district," Lukas said, even though he knew he probably wouldn't be able to do this. Something told him that he wouldn't be able to part with it, no matter how hard he tried.

The Jeep started moving, travelling towards the southern gate at a steady speed. At the gate Marinus pulled the vehicle to a halt, flashing his identification at the guards there. One of the guards inside the booth by the gate pulled a lever and the gate began to slide open, slowly and somewhat creakily. Beyond were several dirtied white tents and numerous wandering prawns. Marinus honked the Jeep's horn to scatter the majority of them away as he drove the Jeep into the district.

"That's a good plan," Keller said, "leave it in the district with members of its own species. I like you Lukas: You have all the right ideas. No wonder they picked you to be in this team."

"Where are we headed, exactly?" Marinus asked. Keller handed him the note with the exact location written on it and the Captain resumed driving, guiding the Jeep through the narrow streets of District 10.

The first thing that got Lukas' attention was the smell. It was less profound outside but it was still there anyway. It was the smell of a few million dirtied, unwashed aliens forced to live in their own filth. It wasn't a very pleasant smell but it was a step up from the smell that hung around District 9.

The next thing were the trash littered dirt "streets" that went between blocks of tents. There were even prawns living under shelters on the sides of the streets, even whole families of them. The Jeep passed a few of these large families, some that even had five young prawnlings and more. Most looked rather dishevelled and starving, even if food was handed out on a regular basis here. Lukas doubted it was enough to go around.

The prawnling in the portable cage chirped with interest at the sight of its fellows. Lukas had second-thoughts about leaving it in the district, especially in appalling conditions such as this. A POW camp in World War Two would have been better than this, and he had only been in District 10 for about five minutes.

Marinus suddenly pulled the Jeep to a halt. Keller frowned, surprised at the halt but Marinus was quick to explain why. He nodded towards a nearby shack, one that had its door wide open. An intense smell, that of rotting meat, was wafting out of it.

"What is it?" Keller asked.

"It's one of their makeshift birthing chambers," Marinus said. He pulled open the glove-box and removed a glass bottle, one filled with a clear liquid and that had a dry rag shoved into the top. "They hang up carcasses and lay their eggs in them, you know? It's fucking disgusting. Stinks out a whole fucking street."

"Shouldn't you guys be controlling the births?" Keller asked, "Otherwise the population here is going to get to be too much and the next thing you know you'll need to build District 11…"

"We don't bother most times," Marinus said. He reached into a pocket and removed a shiny silver cigarette lighter. "We haven't got the resources for mass abortions. One thing we can do is get rid of the ones we find, if only for the fun of it. You ever heard a prawn egg explode? It's fucking hilarious."

Lukas had a feeling about what was coming next. He wasn't too sure on what to think about it but he didn't think that subject the prawnling in the cage to witnessing a rather nasty abortion would be good for it. Still, Lukas watched with some curiosity as Marinus flicked open the cigarette lighter and lit the dry rag in the bottle's top on fire. He recognized the bottle as a Molotov cocktail, a makeshift weapon that could start rather large fires.

Once the rag was burning Marinus put away the cigarette lighter. He shifted in his seat slightly in order to get a better angle before he tossed the Molotov cocktail. It sailed through the air, burning brightly. Marinus seemed to have gotten his aim rather precise since the cocktail went straight through the shack's door and exploded into a large plume of flame on one of the hanging carcasses within. Immediately one of the large prawn eggs exploded, a high-pitched squeal emanating from within that ended abruptly. The fire spread right across the inside of the shack, taking with it several more eggs, each of which exploded with a loud _poomp!_

Marinus chuckled at the sound, as well as the squeals of the dying unborn prawns that were within the burning eggs. Keller and Sarah joined in as well while Lukas was left with a rather sick feeling in his stomach. He was with a bunch of murderers.

"Sounds like fucking popcorn," Marinus commented before he put the Jeep back in drive.

Lukas peered into the portable cage, noticing that the prawnling inside was busy rattling the bars. No doubt it wanted to get out, especially after what it had just witnessed, if it could understand what had just happened. Marinus was still laughing about it, even as they drove through the narrow, dirty streets of District 10.

"You know what I read somewhere," Keller began, deciding to break the silence amongst the group, "It concerned…Well, it's actually a pretty interesting topic." He laughed when he said this. Lukas wasn't too sure about what he could possibly be referring to.

"What?" Sarah asked.

"Interspecies sex," Keller said bluntly.

"What the hell do you read in your spare time?" Marinus asked, frowning. He had stopped laughing by now, the amusing explosions of prawn larvae having since ceased.

"It was on the Internet," Keller said. Marinus nodded in understanding: there was all kind of crap to be found on the Internet.

"Some woman apparently caught something off of one of the prawns," Keller continued, "And she ended up going missing shortly afterwards. I can tell you that MNU snatched her right up, judging from the changes her body was going through…"

"Changes?" Sarah sounded a little disgusted.

"Yeah," Keller said, smiling, "Rather interesting ones at that. I think she died in the end, though. Her body couldn't take what was happening to it."

"And what was happening?" Marinus asked.

"Oh, no one's too sure," Keller said, "It's speculated she started turning into a prawn, all from a brief fling she had with one of them. Why anyone would even want to get that close to a prawn is beyond me, but hell, some people have strange tastes."

"It got me thinking about that girl we arrested back in District 9," Keller said. He glanced at Lukas and Sarah. "You remember her, don't you?"

"Yeah," Lukas and Sarah replied at the same time. They exchanged looks before falling silent again.

"Something tells me she got pretty close to Vincent Matheson," Keller said, smiling when he thought about it. Lukas, on the other hand, found the topic of conversation immature but couldn't help but listen anyway.

"I wonder if she's feeling alright?" Keller wondered aloud, just as the Jeep pulled to a stop outside of the shack where the suspicious heat signature had been found.

"Well, we're here," Marinus said, "I think I know the prawn who lives here. A female, by the human name of Iris…"

"Iris, huh?" Keller pondered the thought briefly as he climbed out of the Jeep. He pulled out his Automag .44 pistol as he did, pulling out the magazine and checking to see if it was loaded. It was and he slid it back into the weapon. "Who comes up with these names?"

Sarah climbed out of the Jeep, as did Marinus. Lukas was last out and he left the portable cage containing the prawnling in the back. It chirped worriedly when it saw that he was leaving but Lukas simply looked at it with a reassuring gaze. He began thinking that maybe he could keep it, if he was allowed to…He knew he couldn't part with it, not after what had happened today.

"I'll be back," Lukas said.

"Quit talking to that critter, Lukas," Keller barked. Lukas looked up, feeling slight disheartened but he tapped the top of the cage reassuringly.

Marinus had taken up his rifle from inside the Jeep, as did Sarah. Up ahead was the shack that had showed up on the satellite imaging, emanating a suspicious trace of heat that could very well have been some sort of power source, maybe electrical, maybe alien. It was impossible to be sure.

"You ever handled a gun, Lukas?" Keller asked.

Lukas looked up, taken off-guard by the question. It took a moment for the words to register in his mind and when they did he couldn't help but think: did he have to handle a gun? He was no soldier.

"Do I have to?" Lukas asked.

Keller smiled and stepped over to Lukas, thrusting a Beretta pistol into his grip. The weapon was surprisingly lightweight (then again it would have to be, being a pistol and all) while it was startlingly cold in his grip.

"Just a precaution, Lukas," Keller said, "Just make sure the safety switch is on when there's no need to shoot. If you accidentally shot me in the ass I wouldn't be very happy, you understand?"  
Lukas nodded and Keller just chuckled.

"We're dealing with some dangerous prawns," Keller said, "The type that enjoy killing humans. It's better to be armed when you don't need a gun than unarmed when you do need a gun. You got that?"

"Uh…yeah…"

"Good."

And with that, Keller started for the shack's front door. Lukas was left with a gun in his hands and little idea as to how to operate it. He saw that Marinus and Sarah were headed for the door as well so he decided to follow, more because he felt like an idiot standing out here by himself than for any other reason.


	24. Changing the eye

**Changing the eye  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1350 Hours

Colonel Francis Keller arrived at the door of the shack. He paused, perhaps thinking about how to approach the situation. There would be trouble, no doubt, and he would have to quell it as quickly and efficiently as possible. If this was the right place (and he was fairly certain it was) then he was about to bust one of the higher-ups in the prawn insurgent organization.

Marinus Venter and Sarah Taylor were just behind him, while Lukas Farber stood a few metres behind them all. He stood feeling a little anxious, not sure on what he should be doing. He was no soldier but he had been brought along for a reason, one that probably had something to do with alien technology that might be kept inside the shack. He was the expert on alien technology but even so he doubted he would be able to do much with any when they found it. There were simply too many mysteries with the prawn technology and little could be done with it, especially since it didn't work in human hands. Something to do with DNA encoding, it was impossible to be sure.

Lukas stood with the Beretta pistol he had been given gripped in his right hand. He doubted he would need to use it and he had a feeling that he wouldn't have very good aim if he did need to use it. He kept it pointed downward, just in case that in the event that it did accidentally fire it wouldn't hit anyone (except perhaps hit him in the foot). He watched as Keller stopped at the door, contemplated his next move and knocked rather forcefully on the front.

Unsurprisingly there was no answer. Keller didn't think that knocking again would yield much of a result so taking a step back he took a moment to ponder what to do next. It wasn't long before he lifted one booted foot and delivered a powerful kick into the door, one that tore the flimsy wooden construct off of its hinges. The door fell with a loud _slam!_ on the floor beyond and Keller stepped inside, holding his .44 Automag pistol at the ready.

Marinus and Sarah followed him in, rifles raised. Lukas was the last inside and he walked into a rather tidy but slightly smelly interior, one with a few old bookshelves and tables positioned within. There were stacks of old hardcover books and some newspapers on a few of the tables and shelves. Up ahead there appeared to be an open trapdoor, one that revealed a set of downward stairs that went into a brightly lit underground room.

There was a prawn just stepping off of the top stair. It was a light coloured one, slender in frame and somewhat less strong looking than most others. Lukas assumed that this was Iris, the female that Marinus had said lived here. It was definitely female, the differences in body shape were there.

"Don't fucking move!" Keller shouted, his tone stern and commanding. The prawn froze, taking in the four humans inside, three of which had weapons trained on her. It took her a moment to raise her hands and immediately Sarah stepped forward, delivering a powerful blow into the prawn's face. The female prawn crumpled into an unconscious heap on the floor, blood oozing from a slight gash on one side of its face.

"Keep watch on that one," Keller ordered Sarah before adding, "Marinus, Lukas…follow me." He gestured to the trap door and stairs ahead, now with the obvious intention of heading down there.

Lukas watched as both Keller and Marinus headed down the stairs and into the underground room. Lukas followed shortly afterwards, thinking that he wasn't trained for this sort of thing. Arresting prawns hadn't been in his job description after all. Still, he thought it best he follow Colonel Keller's orders. No need to piss him off, Lukas thought.

The underground room was perhaps as large as the shack it was hidden underneath. Lukas was a bit perplexed as to the purpose of the room until he saw the large cylindrical pod, comprised of a dull silver metal and dirtied glass that was sitting in the centre of the room. A few power cables trailed off of it and to portable batteries. The room itself was strangely warm, perhaps explaining the energy signature that had been detected by the satellite imaging earlier. There were a few wooden boxes over in one corner while several rifles of differing types were resting against the far wall. There was more than one alien weapon as well. Lukas had a feeling that they had stumbled across some sort of insurgent hideout, he just couldn't determine the purpose of the large and quite obviously alien pod.

There were two prawns in here. One was a light brown and was perhaps quite young. He had started for one of the alien weapons as the humans marched in but Keller trained his pistol on the prawn. The prawn saw this and froze, putting up its hands in a sign of surrender.

The other prawn was a bit larger and darker in colour, its left arm bandaged up. It was dressed in some tattered dark trousers and seemed to be the least fazed of the trio of prawns at the arrival of the MNU mercenaries. Marinus trained his rifle on this prawn and seemed to recognize it.

"Willis Harrison?" He asked, "huh, I had a feeling you'd be involved in this."

Over in the corner, a muffled cry for help sounded and all three humans shifted their attention in its direction. A bruised and tired looking mercenary sat tied to a chair, duct tape over his mouth while ropes bound both his wrists and ankles. His eyes lit up at the sight of the humans, obviously relieved that someone was here to rescue him from what was presumably some sort of imprisonment.

Keller stepped over to the mercenary while Marinus kept his rifle trained on the two prawns. Keller ripped the duct tape off of the young mercenary's mouth and immediately the mercenary began talking, his voice laced with a slight Irish accent.

"Oh Christ, I thought I was a goner!" He exclaimed, practically exhausted, "I thought they were going to eat me…"

"You must be Patrick McDougall," Keller said, taking out a combat knife. He cut the ropes at Patrick's wrists and ankles, allowing the mercenary to stand up and flex his aching muscles.

Patrick pointed at the prawn with the bandaged left arm, his eyes narrowed with hatred.

"He's the one," he said, "He's the bastard who knocked me out. He's the one who's in charge of this…whatever it is…" He trailed off, realizing he sounded like a rambling madman. A week as a prisoner of the prawn insurgents could probably make someone a rambling madman, Lukas figured.

Keller glanced over at the prawn, the one that Marinus had called "Willis". The other prawn, the younger one, seemed to be watching what was going on very carefully. Keller rested his eyes on the alien pod and Lukas thought he saw a hint of satisfaction appear on the Colonel's face. If he did it didn't last for very long, since Keller's face quickly returned to its usual straight-faced state.

"Go and wait upstairs," Keller told Patrick, turning back around to face the young mercenary, "I've got some things to take care of down here."

Patrick nodded eagerly and turned around and left, walking briskly in obvious excitement at his freedom. Lukas looked at both prawns, trying to work out what they were thinking, if they were thinking anything. It was hard to tell but he thought he saw a trace of fear in the eyes of the younger one. This fear seemed to inflate somewhat as Marinus stepped over to the young prawn and searched the pockets in his tattered grey trousers, pulling out a yellowed identification card.

"Lawrence Davis," Marinus said, throwing Keller the card so he could take a look at it, "I bet his grandad's in on this too…"

"His grandad?" Lukas asked, frowning. Was this some sort of family insurgency operation that they had stumbled upon?

"Yeah," Marinus replied simply, glancing at Lukas, "This insurgency bullshit probably runs in the family."

The prawn, Willis as was apparently his name, didn't seem at all fazed by the intrusion of the MNU mercenaries. Rather, he gazed at each of them carefully. His eyes met with Lukas' but the prawn remained emotionless, keeping his cool even when it was obvious that he was in a lot of trouble.

"Tie these two up," Keller ordered. He picked up some of the fallen rope that had come off of Patrick and threw it to Marinus, who caught it with ease. Marinus proceeded to tie up both prawns while Keller kept his pistol trained on them, making sure that they didn't try anything to escape. Lukas doubted they would, even if there was a horde of weapons just over in the corner.

Both prawns were forced onto their knees and held at gunpoint by Marinus. Keller, meanwhile, stepped over to the alien pod and took a close examination of it. Lukas had a feeling he would be needed to take a more thorough examination of the alien technology and so approached Keller, expecting the call for help. Keller thoughtfully tapped the thick glass on top of the pod, frowning at the extent of the black ooze that was stuck on the inside. It completely obscured the view of whatever else was inside the pod, if there was anything else. Lukas had a feeling that the black gunk was all that was inside.

"I wouldn't touch that if I were you," one of the prawns said. It had been the larger of the pair who had spoken, the one called Willis. Keller frowned when he heard this, unable to quite understand the clicks and chirps. He looked towards Marinus was for translation.

"He's telling you not to touch it," Marinus said, keeping his rifle trained in the direction of both prawns.

Keller seemed to smile one of his more unnerving smiles. Lukas stepped aside as Keller walked past, the Colonel heading over to where the larger prawn was kneeling. He stopped before Willis and looked down in a rather condescending manner, eyeing the prawn carefully. Willis returned the gaze with eyes that were full of obvious dislike towards the Colonel.

"I don't think you're in a position to be giving order, van de Merwe," Keller said. Lukas and Marinus both frowned when they heard the use of the name but neither said anything, thinking nothing of it. Keller seemed to enjoy the surprised look the prawn gave him at the mention of this name and remained looking surprised, even as Keller pressed the barrel of his Automag pistol against the side of the prawn's head.

"You see, I just caught you and your buddies running an illegal insurgency operation," Keller continued, "I should shoot you on the spot for being terrorists but my boss would prefer it if you were alive. They want to ask you some questions, most of them concerning that piece of alien junk you so rudely stole from that convoy last week. So, if you don't want me to blow your brains out I'd suggest you be quiet and not try anything fancy. Sure, my boss may want you alive but I don't necessarily have to follow that order to the letter, you got that?" Keller wriggled the Automag pistol near the prawn's head in a rather intimidating fashion. Willis simply eyed it carefully, the surprise having gone from his alien features.

"They could probably do without your help," Keller continued, smiling menacingly.

Lukas glanced over at the alien pod. He was still a little confused as to some of the things Keller was talking about, although the name "van de Merwe" rang a bell. In fact, if Lukas' memory served correctly it was the name of a man who had gone missing after becoming a fugitive for…was it a sex romp with some prawns? Lukas couldn't remember exactly. He had had the flu at the time and had been sick in bed for most of the week it had occurred, back in 2010.

Lukas stepped closer to the pod, peering closely at it while Keller continued his rather intimidating speech.

"You see, I know who you really are," Keller said, "And there ain't any use in denying it." He shot a glance over at Marinus. "Hey, Captain, you know who this guy really is?"

"Huh?" Marinus was caught off-guard by the question, having been busy watching the other prawn, the one called Lawrence.

"He's Wikus van de Merwe," Keller announced. Lukas frowned when he heard this while the meaning of the words took a moment to register in Marinus' mind. When they did the mercenary stepped over to the prawn, Keller stepping aside to allow him access to the kneeling prawn.

The prawn was Wikus van de Merwe? How did that even make any sense? Lukas shook his head, preferring to let Keller and Marinus deal with the prawns. Lukas, on the other hand, went back to taking a close look at the alien pod.

He noticed then that some of the black ooze had congealed along the edges of the glass dome, where the glass met the metal. He traced one finger along it and immediately a trace of the ooze appeared on his finger. It was cold to the touch and tingled the flesh at his fingertips slightly. Feeling a little uneasy he wiped his finger on his uniform, leaving an ugly black smear.

"You shit!" Marinus said to Wikus, anger contorting his features. He brought the butt of his rifle into the prawn's face, sending Wikus sprawling onto the floor. The prawn squeaked in pain, seconds before Marinus delivered a kick to the prawn's side.

"Take it easy, Captain," Keller said, although it was obvious he was enjoying this.

"You killed my brother, you fuck," Marinus said, his face contorted with rage. He kicked Wikus in the side again and done so a few more times, leaving the prawn in a crumpled and agonized heap on the floor. Even though Wikus was down Marinus decided to follow up with another blow, bringing the butt-end of his CR21 rifle into the prawn's back. Wikus fell flat onto the floor, winded.

"I…didn't…kill him…" Wikus gasped this in between squeaks of pain. Marinus paused, faltering in his stance a little. Over by the pod, Lukas rubbed his right eye.

Christ, Lukas thought, this is been a long day. The warmth inside this underground room was beginning to make him sweat. Lukas rubbed both eyes, forgetting that there was still a trace of the black ooze on one of his fingers. Regardless, he rubbed his right eye with this finger.

"Keep him in one piece, Captain," Keller said, still smiling, "My superiors would prefer it if Mr. Van de Merwe was alive, even if he is a terrible liar."

"I didn't kill him," Wikus repeated, looking up at both humans.

"It was your fault he died," Marinus replied, his voice laced with hatred. He had calmed down slightly, perhaps realizing that he had been too quick to jump to a conclusion. Without giving Wikus a chance to reply Marinus slammed the butt of his rifle into the prawn's back again. Wikus grunted as a piece of the exoskeleton at his back cracked. Black blood oozed out of the wound and the prawn was left on the floor, trying his best to keep in the whimpers of pain he felt like emitting. He didn't want to appear weak, not in front of these MNU pricks.

Lawrence was watching all this unfold with a neutral look on his alien features. His gaze met with Wikus' and for a moment both prawns seemed to communicate. Lawrence's eyes went over to the weapons stored against the back wall but Wikus shook his head.

Lukas noticed the alien control panels on the side of the pod and began to fiddle with them. None seemed to be working, hinting that either someone needed prawn DNA to work them or that the pod's power source had long since depleted.

"What's it like being a prawn, Wikus?" Keller asked. Wikus didn't reply, instead he watched Lukas with some noticeable concern. When Keller noticed this he helped the prawn up, turning his head so that he was looking straight into the Colonel's face.

"You're in a lot of trouble, you do know that?" Keller asked, "I have a feeling that once you've outlived your…uh…_usefulness_, my boss may think of having you dissected. That way we'll be able to see if there's anything human left inside of you, eh?"

There was a pause as the two of them looked into each other's eyes. Wikus seemed resigned to whatever fate awaited him and thus didn't say anything, instead he lowered his head and looked at the floor. There was no use struggling. He was dead no matter what happened.

Lukas felt a burning sensation in his right eye at that moment. It started off slight at first but within seconds it had built up into an agonizing, near blinding pain. Putting one hand to the stinging eye he grunted, rubbing it furiously. This only seemed to make things worse and the pain became so intense that Lukas almost fell over.

He steadied himself on the pod, opening and closing his right eye as he tried to figure out what was happening. Was he going blind? And if so, why the hell was it happening now? He opened his right eye and was surprised to find that most things through that eye appeared blurred and hazy, as if a transparent film had coated the eye. The pain seemed to bore right into his skull and he moaned in agony, getting the attention of everybody else in the room.

"Hey, Lukas, what the fuck's wrong with you?" Keller asked, frowning and somewhat annoyed at the interruption. He saw Lukas clutching at his right eye and managed a perplexed expression, trying to work out what could possibly be wrong.

Marinus watched Lukas was some confusion, still angry at Wikus. He didn't say anything and instead watched as Keller stepped towards the hurt engineer. Both Lawrence and the wounded Wikus kept their gazes fixed on Lukas. Lawrence looked worried while Wikus remained neutral, both prawns unsure of what was happening.

The pain subsided momentarily, only to be replaced by an incredible nauseating feeling. He was barely aware of Keller who was stepping towards him, some genuine concern crossing his ageing features. Lukas kept one hand over his aching eye, his mind filled with contradicting thoughts as to what was happening.

The burning pain resumed, as if something was eating up the eye from within. He shouted and fell backwards, Keller catching him with one arm and steadying the engineer on his feet.

_What the hell is wrong with me? I feel like shit all of a sudden…_

"You look pale," Keller said, keeping a grip on Lukas' as he helped balance the faltering engineer.

Something seemed to pop within his eye, sending a wave of pure agony through his skull. A wet sticky ooze seeped from the eye and down the hand that Lukas held at it. He removed his hand and shouted again, tears of agony streaming down his cheek from his one good eye. Taking a look at his hand he saw that, through the haze that his wounded right eye provided, black ooze had seeped down his hand, having come from his eye.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw this, even if he had no idea as to what it could possibly mean. Where was the black gunk coming from? Was it coming from him? How the hell…

Before he could complete the thought, he threw up. It wasn't an ordinary throwing up. Far from it, in fact. It came forth at a projectile rate and rather than make him feel better it made him feel a lot worse. Where the nausea had been slight up until now, this spew made him feel like his head weighed a ton and that there was a truckload more vomit waiting to be brought up. The vomit itself wasn't anything he was familiar with, containing no chunks of food but…more of the black ooze.

Keller saw this and stumbled backwards with surprise, perhaps the first time Lukas had seen him with some noticeable fear on his face.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck is that?" He exclaimed.

Marinus was watching with some morbid fascination, having since lost interest in the two prawns kneeling nearby that he was supposed to be keeping an eye on. Lawrence shifted uneasily where he knelt, exchanging worried glances with Wikus.

Lukas leaned on the pod, taking a deep breath. The pain in his eye subsided but the nausea continued. The reflection in the metal of the alien pod provided an interesting look at what had happened: a stream of black ooze had dribbled from his right eye and down his cheek, the ooze itself unnaturally thick. Lukas wiped it away with one sleeve, still trying to get the disgusting taste of the black fluid out of his mouth. He felt like throwing up again but didn't, instead he peered at his reflection in the metal and almost choked in surprise.

His right eye had changed. No longer was it the brown he was used to, with the black pupil and white around it all. Instead, the eye had gone a strange golden-yellow colour, leaving a cat-like pupil in the centre. The whites of the eye had gone, replaced by this…_alien_ eye.

Lukas put his hand over it, trying to contain his utter horror. What the hell was happening to him? What had he done to deserve this and how the hell did it happen?

Keller was still standing near Lukas, his face creased into a worried frown. He was yet to notice the eye but he did notice something else.

"Your nose is bleeding," Keller said.

Lukas put his other hand to his nose and found that yes, it was bleeding. He wiped the blood away with one hand, only to find that it wasn't blood. Far from it: it was more of the black fluid and it was dribbling out of his nose at an alarming rate.

His eyesight had returned to normal, albeit things seemed a little…clearer. Everything was almost in superior clarity now, as if the change in his right eye had done something to improve it. Still, he refused to accept the fact that this was happening to him, whatever it was.

What would the others do when they saw his changed eye? He couldn't afford to reveal it to them, they would treat him as a freak…But he knew he needed help. The only way he would get help was to get to a doctor somewhere, and that would mean showing this change to others. What would his wife think? Her husband now had two completely different eyes. And to top it all off he felt really sick. The two prawns were staring at him, as if they knew what was going on. Yeah, right…They were just two stupid prawns. They didn't know anything…

Keller cleared his throat and Lukas slowly turned around to face him. Lukas kept his right eye covered with his right hand, Keller frowning when he saw this.

"My eye…" Lukas began. Keller seemed rather interested now, having lost the unnerved look he had had earlier when Lukas had projectile vomited that black fluid.

"Why, you're not looking too good there, Lukas," Keller said. He reached out and pulled Lukas' right arm away from his face. The cigar in Keller's mouth dropped out when he saw the golden-yellow eye, the one that was in no way human…

"Holy shit," Keller muttered. He seemed to be contemplating on what to do about it, frowning while looking fascinated at the same time. Marinus stepped to an angle that allowed him to gaze at Lukas' face. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw what had happened.

Lukas didn't like the way they were looking at him, nor did he like the way the two prawns were looking at him. He needed medical help, he knew that: whatever had caused his eye to change must have been reversible. He couldn't imagine going through life as a freak with two completely different eyes…Katherine, his wife, might not love him anymore…

_Now I'm just overreacting. It's just my eye and I can still see…_

He wiped his nose clean of the slowly dribbling black fluid. Whatever had caused it must have had something to do with the black ooze he had found on the outside of the pod. How it had gotten into his eye was beyond him, unless…

He had rubbed it in himself, absent-mindedly. _I must have been such an idiot to have done something as careless and as that and now I'm paying for it, _he was thinking…

He puked again, splattering the floor near his feet with more of the black fluid. Keller and Marinus stepped backwards to avoid getting splashed by it. Lukas almost gagged on the taste of the fluid, able to find a strange metallic flavour to it. He looked up as he wiped his mouth with one sleeve, further dirtying his once clean dark blue uniform. There was a strange tingling sensation around his right eye and something seemed to be burning at the flesh around it. He ignored it, thinking that he really did need some medical help.

"I need a doctor," Lukas said, coughing. The world around him seemed to be spinning all of a sudden and Keller's response came to him in an echoing but strangely faint and far away voice. Lukas rubbed at his suddenly aching head, trying to determine what was going on but finding that his senses had been shot to hell.

"A doctor?" Keller shook his head. "I think you're past help, Lukas. I mean, look at that eye of yours…sort of looks like a prawn eye, doesn't it? No medical treatment I know of can fix something like that."

Keller laughed. Lukas struggled to keep his vision focused on the Colonel while he tried to work out all that was happening to him. A prawn eye? What was that supposed to mean? That he had actually developed a prawn eye in place of his right eye in a matter of minutes? That was absurd…but he realized that all the similarities were there. The feline-like pupil, the golden-hazel or golden-yellow iris around it…Jesus Christ, it _was_ a prawn eye.

"You have to help me," Lukas said, although his voice sounded strangely distant.

Keller looked at Marinus who had been watching the engineer closely. Nearby, both prawns (Lawrence and Wikus) watched the scene unfold with neutral gazes. All Lukas had to do was look at them to be able to see that they knew something about what was happening to him. He pointed an accusing finger at Wikus.

"You…You did this…" He croaked. He coughed up more of the fluid, splattering the glass of the nearby pod with it. Lukas swayed unsteadily on his feet, unable to focus on the prawn ahead. Keller grabbed him at the sides and steadied him.

"We're going to get you help, Lukas," Keller said. Marinus stepped forward with a coil of rope held in his hands. Keller brought both Lukas hands behind his back, allowing Marinus to bind them together at the wrists with the rope. It took Lukas a moment to work out what they were doing.

Why were they tying him up for? He was no threat. At least, he didn't think he was. The tone of Keller's voice was friendly and reassuring but there was a hidden layer underneath it. The friendliness was a mere façade, one displayed in order to sense Lukas into a false sense of security. Lukas wasn't falling for it one bit.

"Untie me," Lukas demanded. He coughed again just as Marinus forced him to his knees, Keller bringing the barrel of his Automag pistol against the back of Lukas' neck.

"No can do," Keller replied.

"What?!" Lukas felt a wave of anger surge through him, followed by another nauseous feeling. What was the Colonel doing?

"My boss told me to keep a lookout for incidents such as the one you had," Keller said, "So; we're going to get you help. Just not the type you were expecting. Don't worry Lukas, you'll be fine."

Keller cheerfully patted him on the shoulder but Lukas wasn't in the mood. Instead, his gaze went to the prawn known as Willis…or Wikus…or whatever the hell it called itself. The prawn was watching him, its gaze level but its eyes betraying the anxiety it was feeling.

Lukas struggled against the ropes at his wrists but found that they were far too tight for him to be able to break out of. He doubted he would get very far if he did break out of them since he would have to deal with both Keller and Marinus. Both men made tough and imposing targets and both were combat trained. Lukas, on the other hand, had no combat training whatsoever. And even if he managed to get out of here, where would he go? Could he go home to his wife? No, they would just intercept him before he made it out of the district…

He knew he was in some serious trouble now. Whatever was happening to him it was obvious that there were people interested in it…and not interested in his wellbeing.

"What do we do now?" Marinus asked.

"Get an APC over here to pick up the three prawns, and Mr. Farber here," Keller said. Marinus nodded and stepped aside, fiddling with his radio as he searched for the right channel. When he found it he began his call for an APC.

Keller let go of Lukas and reached into a pocket in his vest. Lukas watched as Keller put on a pair of disposable white rubber gloves before removing a small cylinder, one perhaps four inches long and one inch wide that was marked with a biohazard symbol. He stepped towards the pod and rubbed some of the congealed black fluid off of the edges and into the cylinder, closing and sealing the lid on the cylinder before slipping it back into his pocket.

"APC's on its way here," Marinus said, switching off his radio. He turned around, watching as Keller took off the rubber gloves and tossed them aside.

Lukas could tell from the fact that Keller had been carrying a sealed sample-carrying cylinder with him that he had been expecting to find this alien device. With it he had been expecting to find the black ooze…he just hadn't been expecting Lukas to get some in his right eye.

"What are you doing?" Marinus asked, frowning.

"Just taking a sample," Keller replied casually, before adding, "Get back on the radio and call in backup. We need to secure this area and make sure none of those fucking prawns try reclaiming this piece of alien technology."

Marinus nodded and went back to working his radio again. Keller and Lukas exchanged gazes, Lukas delivering the Colonel one that displayed the intense dislike he was feeling towards him right about now.

"Don't be so annoyed, Lukas," Keller said, smiling again, "It was your own fault for getting some of that black shit in your eye. Maybe next time you should be more careful?"  
Lukas went to speak but gagged instead, coughing up more of the black fluid. Keller stepped back to avoid being sprayed with it, keeping that irritating smile of his on his face.

"Not feeling too good, are we?" Keller asked, "I can understand, what with some alien gunk flowing through your system. What does it feel like? Does it hurt?"

"Fuck you," Lukas said bluntly. By now the room was spinning around him, the lights within seeming to double up…no, triple up. Three Colonel Keller's stood above him now.

Lukas could no longer fight the feeling of illness and fatigue that washed through him. He slumped forwards and landed in a pile of his own black puke, ruining the entire front of his uniform. The last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was the prawn, Wikus, watching him carefully, as was the other prawn, Lawrence.


	25. News Travels Fast

**News Travels Fast  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1405 Hours

Crouched low in the long grass by the perimeter fence near the east side of District 10, Vincent Matheson pondered what to do next. He and Linda had since abandoned the car they had stolen from the service station outside of Johannesburg and had walked the last mile or so. It was hot and both of them had needed to bring a fair share of bottled water.

Linda was crouched behind him, her expression neutral as she watched Vincent search through the assorted junk left lying around in the grass. Vincent knew what he was looking for but Linda didn't, as a result she put on an inquisitive gaze as she tried to determine what he was doing.

Vincent's plan had to come to District 10 and ensure that the resistance was not discovered by the MNU mercenaries that had arrested him and Linda back in District 9. He hoped he wasn't too late but chances were he was, seeing as it had taken a fair while to drive out here. District 10 was two hundred miles from District 9 and that could turn out to be a time consuming drive, even when most of the roads out here were empty.

Above, the sun was beating down upon the landscape with a relentless ferocity. Vincent's exoskeleton was heating up, leaving the prawn feeling sapped of energy as the heat began to take its toll on him. Prawns weren't built in a way that helped them negate the effects of hot weather, unlike humans who could sweat and so forth. Vincent gulped down another half a bottle of water, pausing in his search amongst the discarded junk that was lying around in the long grass.

"What are you looking for?" Linda asked, frowning. Her voice was tinged with concern when she noticed Vincent's exhaustion but the prawn didn't take too much notice, instead concentrating on sifting through the junk.

"Something I left here on my last visit," Vincent replied. He chirped with annoyance when he realized that it should be here, except that it wasn't. Either someone had taken it (he doubted this) or he wasn't looking in the right place, both possibilities being ones that annoyed him. He could have sworn he had left it here, right under the very sheet of rusted iron that was in front of him. Instead, he shifted the sheet and was surprised to find that a rather nasty looking snake was there.

Linda jumped back in fright but Vincent remained unfazed. He picked up the angry snake and tossed it aside, letting it slither off into the long grass. When it was gone he looked under the sheet again, finding that the item he was after wasn't there.

It took him a moment to see the faint piece of dirtied metal jutting out of the dirt. His confidence renewed, Vincent brushed away some of the dirt and in turn revealed a set of slightly rusty wire cutters, these cutters being large type that could cut through even the strongest wire. He pulled them out of the dirt and showed them to Linda whilst chirping with triumph.

"Here they are," he said.

"Wire cutters?" Linda was unimpressed.

"We can cut our way through the fence," Vincent said, "I've done it before, it's just those mercenaries keep repairing the holes. That's why we need these."

Clutching the wire cutters in his left claw he started moving through the grass, keeping low. Linda followed him and the pair started towards the outer fence, the crowded tents and shacks quite visible beyond it. Once inside, Vincent knew just where to go. Sure, Carl Davis didn't really like him but he was on good terms with Lawrence and Wikus from his days in the resistance.

There was a blind spot in the guard tower coverage, one that Vincent had discovered during his days in the resistance. It was most effective to leave via this blind spot during the night since the searchlights didn't cover it. During the day it was much too easy for the tower guards to see anyone approaching the fence, hence why Vincent knew that he would have to be rather quick about breaking in. They couldn't wait till nightfall: chances are by the time evening came the resistance leaders would have all been arrested, partly because of him. He knew it was because of the items that had been found in his shack in District 9 that the mercenaries had been lead here, to the insurgency groups that operated from within District 10. He wasn't about to let this mistake cripple the resistance, especially since he firmly believed in the cause they were fighting for. Freedom for the prawns and freedom was the greatest cause of all.

The nearest guard tower was some distance down the fence to the right. The guard was standing on its balcony, looking down into the district while he blew on a cigarette. His attention was diverted elsewhere it seemed and it didn't take much for Vincent to see what had the guard's attention.

A short distance from the fence were two prawns, both full-grown adults. They were getting right into each other, punching and kicking and swiping with their claws. Vincent couldn't see what had started the fight but he assumed it was a trivial matter, most likely over food. With the guard's attention diverted to this fate Vincent was free to approach the fence, keeping low while Linda followed him.

With the wire cutters in hand Vincent began to work on cutting a gap out of the fence. There were a few prawns wandering by up ahead, near the tents and shacks. Some stopped to watch Vincent with some curiosity, unable to quite work out where he had come from or what he was doing here. Vincent felt a tad uneasy as several pairs of eyes fell onto him but he continued snipping away at the fence with the wire cutters, making good progress.

Nearby the guard in the tower raised his rifle, having tired of the fighting between the two prawns nearby. He pulled the trigger on his rifle, the gunshot echoing throughout this part of the district. Vincent froze, thinking he had been discovered but a quick glance over at the guard tower revealed that the guard had instead gunned down one of the prawns that had been fighting. The other one started to make a run for it but the guard took careful aim and fired, part of the fleeing prawn's head exploding into a black sticky mess.

Vincent had cut a sizeable section out of the wire and without hesitation he kicked in the cut-out section. He climbed through, helping Linda through as well. Before the guard in the tower could shift his attention elsewhere both Vincent and Linda had sprinted to the nearest set of tents, ducking behind them in order to avoid the tower guard's sight.

A few of the nearby prawns eyed Linda suspiciously but otherwise they cared little about her presence here. Vincent felt some relief, seeing as they had made it into the district without getting noticed. Now all they had to do was get to Carl Davis' tent…wherever that was. Vincent couldn't quite remember the way but he was sure that it was around here somewhere. Sensing his uncertainty, Linda looked at him with a frown.

"Where to now?" She asked, "Or don't you know?"

"I know, I know," Vincent replied defensively. He took a look around the narrow alley they had taken shelter in, looking down both ways. He pointed down the alley, indicating that this was the way to go.

"You lead," Linda said. Vincent nodded and started down the alley, Linda following closely behind. They passed a few rather hungry looking prawns, some of which had collapsed from either heat stroke or starvation along the sides of the alley.

"What makes you think we're not too late to save your friends?" Linda asked, "It took us a few hours to get here…"

"There's no point in just giving up," Vincent replied as the pair walked down the alley that ran between blocks of tents and shacks. He was fairly certain they were headed the right way, even if there was some slight doubt at the back of his mind. It had been months since he had last come here to District 10 so his memory of the layout of the place was a little sketchy.

"You really believe in this resistance, don't you?" Linda asked.

Vincent took a moment to answer, directing himself and Linda around a corner in the alley. This took them to a much wider and more open street, one populated by a few prawns that were wandering aimlessly, as they often did in the district. Vincent took the time to look down both ways, checking to see if there were any MNU mercenaries around. The coast was clear so he started forwards, Linda following.

"Yes, I do," Vincent said.

"Violence doesn't solve anything," Linda said, somewhat strange coming from a woman who had happily beaten up an MNU mercenary back at the service station and was now carrying the man's rifle with her. She noticed the strange look Vincent gave her and decided to elaborate a little more on what she was saying.

"I mean this whole resistance-insurgent thing," Linda continued as they crossed the street. A warm breeze billowed past them, ruffling the jacket that Vincent was wearing. "It's just going to make things worse for your kind. Especially if innocent people start dying."

"That's why you convinced me to quit?" Vincent asked, stopping as they arrived at the other side of the street. He took a look around, recognizing one of the nearby tents as Carl Davis' one.

"I wanted you to quit because I…Well, I cared about you," Linda said with some hesitation. Vincent felt a little warm inside all of a sudden, remembering just how pleased he had been feeling earlier in the day.

"I didn't want you to die in some rebellion," Linda continued, "I can see what they're trying to do but there are other ways to gain freedom, ways that don't involve blowing things up…"

"I only delivered equipment, I didn't blow anything up," Vincent said.

"And yet you killed those mercenaries in the APC," Linda replied, frowning, "I never thought of you as a murderer…"

"And you beat up that mercenary back at the service station." Vincent was getting bored of this conversation. Sure, he could see that Linda was sincere in what she was saying but Vincent found she was being a bit hypocritical. This was especially pronounced seeing as she had happily beaten up that mercenary at the service station and yet she was complaining that Vincent was a murderer.

"Then I guess we're just as bad as each other," Linda said, sounding somewhat resigned.

"Come on," Vincent said, deciding to get on with what they had come here for. He lead the way to the door into Carl Davis' tent, knocking on the door when they arrived. There was no response from inside the tent after the first knock so Vincent knocked again.

"Who are we after?" Linda asked, standing a short distance behind him.

"An old…uh…_friend_," Vincent said, using the term "friend" very carefully. Carl Davis wasn't much of a friend, especially since he didn't seem to like Vincent, finding the younger prawn to be "too human".

"Well, maybe he's not home?" Linda asked.

The thought occurred that maybe MNU had already gotten to Carl and Lawrence. If so then Vincent had come here in vain. He didn't want to have wasted the trip and so knocked again. Finally, after about a minute he heard movement from within the tent. The door opened and there stood the old prawn Carl Davis, his one good eye carefully taking in Vincent and then his human friend. The old prawn seemed to frown when he saw Linda, confused as to what a young human woman was doing here.

Carl Davis had apparently been one of the prawns that had been on the ship when it had come to Earth back in 1982 which was now about thirty-one years ago. Carl was perhaps one of the oldest prawns in District 10 and one of the more grumpy prawns, always having some sort of problem with someone or something. Currently he seemed to have a problem with Vincent's arrival here judging by the annoyed look he gave and pheromones he emitted.

"What are you doing here?" Carl asked.

"I…uh…" Vincent suddenly found it difficult to form a proper sentence. Linda, meanwhile, stood back to allow the two prawns to talk. However, Carl looked at her and shot her a hateful glance.

"Who's that?" He asked.

Linda stepped forward when she realized that the old prawn was referring to her, smiling weakly as she did.

"I'm Linda," she said, holding out a hand. The old prawn ignored it, shifting his gaze back to Vincent.

"Why have you brought a human here?" He asked, annoyed, "she could be with MNU…"

"She isn't with MNU," Vincent replied, having known that Carl would have jumped to this conclusion, "In fact, she's with me." Vincent gave the equivalent of a smile, albeit a weak one when he said this.

Carl emitted pheromones of annoyance. Vincent lost the prawn smile, instead deciding to get right on with why he was here. He had, after all, taken the time and effort to come all the way out here, partly to flee from MNU and partly to warn his resistance cohorts.

"MNU's began a crackdown on the resistance," Vincent said bluntly, "and they even managed to arrest me earlier today. I escaped, but I fear they may have been able to trace my links to the resistance back to here through items that were in my home…"

Carl listened to this carefully, keeping his one good eye trained on Vincent. He seemed to be completely ignoring Linda's presence, something that only slightly annoyed the human.

"So in other words, if I get arrested it's your fault?" Carl asked.

Vincent was taken off-guard by this question but when it registered in his mind he realized just how true it was. He realized then and there that maybe he had gotten just too complacent with his life in District 9…He had been hoping that by severing his ties to the resistance he could live a somewhat less dangerous life. Obviously he had been wrong about this. He should have known that sooner or later his past would catch up to him.

"It's nobody's fault," Linda interjected. Carl shot her a mean glance but rather than slink back from the conversation she stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at the old prawn.

"I know that look," she said, narrowing her eyes, "and right now I'm not in the mood to take shit from someone like you. I've had a bad enough day already…Don't make it any worse."

Carl, only partially fazed, shifted his gaze back towards Vincent. He seemed upset at the human's presence, angered pheromones emanating off of him. Vincent remembered what Linda had done to the mercenary back at the service station and was thinking that in her bad mood she might do something similar to Carl. He couldn't help but be amused at this thought since he didn't really like Carl either. However, Carl was one of Vincent's few direct links into the resistance.

"Where's Lawrence? And Wikus?" Vincent asked, noticing that the inside of the tent that he could see behind the old prawn was somewhat devoid of life.

"Lawrence went off to find Wikus, who I think is spending time in a shack somewhere," Carl replied, "He got hold of one of the ship's medical pods from an MNU convoy…"

"Hang on," Linda said, frowning, "Who's Wikus? And what 'medical pod' are we talking about?"

Carl ignored her, keeping his attention directed to Vincent.

"Was it entirely necessary to bring her along?" Carl asked, quite obviously referring to Linda, "she has no idea…"

"She helped me get here," Vincent replied matter-of-factly. He was beginning to feel hot standing out here and so decided to change the topic a little.

"Can we come in?" He asked.

Carl considered this for a moment, looking at both Vincent and Linda in turn. Linda was looking slightly confused, having realized that she was way out of the loop when it came to recent activities in the resistance. After about a half a minute of thought, Carl stepped aside to allow the pair entry.

"You can come in," Carl said, sounding resigned, "I just don't want that human touching anything…"

Vincent nodded to Linda to follow him and the pair headed inside the relatively cool interior of the mostly plastic tent. Carl closed the flimsy plastic door behind them, turning around to regard the pair with some noticeable dislike. Vincent didn't pay much attention to what Carl thought of him and instead headed over to the desk in the corner, the one where Wikus had spent many hours sitting behind writing and working. Checking the drawers Vincent found the ex-human's diary, a small hardcover notebook that had been found on a scrap heap late last year. There were numerous other personal effects, including an MNU identification badge and an aluminium rose.

"We need to organize the others," Vincent said, leaving Wikus' personal effects alone. He felt guilty as he pondered the thought of reading through the ex-human's diary and so left it lying in the top drawer.

"They're in danger," Vincent continued, looking back towards Carl who had stepped away from the door. Linda was standing a short distance over to Vincent's left, surveying a table covered with old hardcover books and newspapers. She began to flick through one of the newspapers with slight interest.

"Don't touch those, human," Carl snapped, directing this towards Linda. She stopped and eyed the old prawn with some annoyance.

"They're mine," Carl finished, his one good eye filled with obvious dislike.

"I think it would be best if we relocated the resistance," Vincent said, getting back Carl's attention, "Rather than operate from within the district we could…"

"Could what?" Carl interrupted, "Where are we going to go? This is the only place where we can get food without having to scavenge for it."

"I know that," Vincent replied, annoyed at the old prawn's grumpy demeanour. What was his problem? Carl seemed so uptight, so…inaccessible. You couldn't talk to him without him losing his temper. The only prawn he seemed to genuinely like as a friend was his grandson Lawrence and that was only because they were related.

"Would you rather get arrested, interrogated and probably killed in some MNU experiment?" Vincent asked, pointing a clawed finger at the old prawn. The question seemed to leave Carl silent for a moment as he considered the notion.

"We've operated long enough without being found out," Carl said, "I don't see why I should organize a mass relocation just because of what you say."

"You're complacent," Vincent said, "If Lawrence was here I'm sure he would agree with me…"

"He wouldn't," Carl replied, "I would know because I'm his grandfather."

Vincent could see that getting through to the stubborn old prawn would be difficult. Carl was definitely complacent, confident that the resistance would survive even if there were MNU forces currently enacting a crackdown on insurgent activities. Vincent had a feeling that he was simply wasting his time here. He began to think that he should seek out Wikus, or Lawrence or some other higher-up in the resistance since they might listen. Instead he was stuck talking to the most stubborn of them all.

"He would agree with me," Vincent said, "As would Wikus…"

Carl scoffed when he heard this.

"The ex-human? Who cares about him?"

"He's the one that helped this resistance get on track," Vincent replied, stating what was generally regarded as fact amongst members of the Popleekwan resistance (although Carl seemed to have missed out on hearing these facts), "Before he came along the resistance was nothing but a few scattered groups of angry Popleekwans blowing things up and derailing trains."

"And do you think we've changed?" Carl asked, unfazed by all that Vincent was telling him.

The younger prawn had to take a moment to think about this. Had they really changed all that much since Wikus had come along? Vincent would have preferred to think that they had…He was fairly certain they had changed, having become more organized and with increased numbers within their ranks. Raids were more successful as a result of much more thorough planning, most of it arranged by Wikus himself.

"Yes," Vincent replied, having reached a decision, "I think we have changed. Anyone who doesn't think that is a fool…"

Carl bristled his antennae angrily when he heard the last sentence. He took a step towards Vincent and for a moment the younger prawn thought he would hit him…But he stopped about a metre away, realizing that Linda had trained her rifle on him.

"Step back," she said, an unwavering look on her face. Vincent could tell that she was serious, thinking that Linda was showing a much more feisty side to her persona. Until today Vincent had considered her gentle, soft-spoken and a good listener…Now she seemed to be bordering on short-tempered and aggressive. For some strange reason Vincent found that he liked this newfound anger and realized that if it wasn't for today's events she might not have tapped into it.

Carl reluctantly took a step back, turning to Linda while keeping his gaze one of calm and level-headedness.

"You wouldn't kill me, human," Carl said, "I can see it in your eyes. You're too…soft."

"Maybe you're right," Linda said, lowering the rifle, "I wouldn't kill you. But I would beat the crap out of you if you gave me an excuse to and beating on Vincent is as good an excuse as any."

Vincent turned to Linda, unable to help but feel confident when she was around him.

"I didn't think you had this much of a temper in you, Linda," Vincent said.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Vincent," Linda replied, smiling. She seemed to be enjoying herself, something that couldn't be said for Carl who was looking as annoyed as usual and emitting appropriately angered pheromones.

"I always thought you were too human, Vincent," Carl said, his tone level, "Thus, I'm not surprised to see that you've fallen for a human."

"You can tell that much, huh?" Vincent asked.

"Yes…"

At that moment the door swung open. Both prawns and the one human turned their attention towards the light brown prawn that raced in and stopped a short distance from the trio, taking the chance to catch its breath. Vincent didn't recognize the prawn as anyone he knew but Carl seemed to, the old prawn's good eye brightening up noticeably at the sight of the new arrival.

"Michael," Carl said in recognition, "What are you doing here?"  
The prawn known as Michael (Vincent reckoned that Michael was perhaps a few years older than him) looked up, his gaze going to Carl. He seemed worried, perhaps monumentally so. Vincent couldn't help but feel worried as a result.

"It's…MNU…" Michael took a few seconds to catch his breath, having obviously ran a fair distance to get her.

"What about them?" Carl seemed annoyed at hearing the name. Then again, MNU was the organization that could be easily associated with everything that was wrong with the lives of the Popleekwan race. Being the patriot that he was, Carl couldn't help but get angry whenever he heard that MNU was up to something.

"They've arrested Wikus and Lawrence," Michael said, "I was in the area when it happened. A few of them went into the shack while a whole bunch of MNU vehicles arrived nearby…"

"What?" Carl was aghast when he heard this. Vincent sensed both the anger and the fear in the old prawn, especially at the announcement that Lawrence had been arrested.

"They've cordoned off the whole area," Michael said, "There are MNU people all over the place. And they're on their way here as well."

"This complicates things," Vincent said. It certainly did: if Wikus and Lawrence had been captured it meant that MNU was in the process of tightening their ever-closing ring on the resistance. And if they were on their way here now…well, Vincent figured that he, Linda, Carl and Michael were best to get moving.

"MNU's on its way here?" Linda asked, raising an eyebrow before adding, "Shit. We have to get out of here…"

"Not without my grandson," Carl barked, angry now, sounding almost enraged. Vincent could tell that Carl wasn't about to flee, not by a long-shot. Instead, it seemed that Carl was effectively on the war-path. And why wouldn't he be? His grandson's life was on the line.

"We have to rescue Wikus," Vincent said, "Without him this resistance is nothing."

Carl didn't say anything in response to this. He was obviously thinking that there was no need to rescue the "ex-human" but he knew that they would end up doing so if they went to rescue Lawrence. There wasn't much point in rescuing one and not rescuing the other. Besides, Vincent wanted to see Lawrence alive and well as much as Carl did. The two of them were fairly good friends and Vincent certainly didn't want Lawrence's death on his conscience.

Vincent remembered where Lawrence kept his stash of firearms and so stepped over to one edge of the tent's rubber matting. He pulled the a corner of it away, revealing the small metal grating underneath that was above the hole containing the several firearms that Lawrence kept here, all of them clean and otherwise well-maintained.

"This is suicide," Linda said, "How could we possibly rescue them? We're not soldiers…"

Vincent could only agree but he didn't respond immediately. Instead, he bent down and pulled off the grating, shifting it to the side as he reached into the hole and retrieved one of the few Popleekwan-built weapons inside. There were only about two of these large grey-silver weapons, the other ones in the hole all being human rifles.

"We may not be soldiers but we have the superior firepower," Vincent said, gripping the prawn rifle in his hands. Its weight gave him an overwhelming sense of confidence, the type that made him think he could take on anything. Well, maybe he could with a weapon like this in his hands. No human weapon could match its devastating power.

"Even if we manage to rescue them, where do we go?" Michael asked this and it was more than a valid question. In fact, it was the one question that Vincent didn't have an answer to.

"I know a place outside of the district," Carl replied, "I used to use it to store some of the weapons we had stolen from the humans during the early days of the resistance. It's not too far and well away from any human civilization…"

"Yeah, but that's if we can get out of the district," Linda said, the doubt evident in her voice, "If we start shooting the place up we're going to have a whole hornet's nest of MNU mercenaries get on our arses."

"Who's this?" Michael asked, noticing Linda's presence for the first time.

"She's with me," Vincent replied. He picked up the other Popleekwan weapon and threw it to Carl, who caught it rather easily. The old prawn gazed down at it for a moment, taking in its design and mechanisms. It was obvious he hadn't used one for quite some time but Vincent was fairly confident the prawn could handle it.

"My name's Linda," Linda said, stepping towards Michael with a hand out in an effort to shake with the prawn. Michael didn't understand the gesture and just shot her an odd gaze, one that inclined Linda to pull back her hand and smile sheepishly.

Vincent pulled out one of the human rifles, an R4 model and threw it to Michael. He caught it and did the same to the few extra magazines that Vincent threw his way as well. Linda was watching all of this with a frown, feeling left out.

"Are you going to come with us, Linda?" Vincent asked, standing up after he slid the metal grating back over the hole. He could tell that Linda was still trying to make a decision, her face one of conflicting thoughts.

"I'm already marked for arrest by MNU," she said after a long pause, "So I may as well tag along. Just don't expect me to be too keen on killing anyone…"

"No one's asking you to kill anyone," Vincent said. He was brimming with confidence and anticipation at what was to come. It seemed that he had arrived too late to effectively warn the resistance of MNU's crackdown on them but rescuing both Wikus and Lawrence would probably help rectify this.

"Just stick with me and you'll be fine," Vincent added although he could see that Linda wasn't too confident about this. Why would she be, especially since he wasn't much of a soldier himself? He was a rebel, not some sort of trained warrior.

His eyes met with Linda's and once again he felt that warm feeling inside of him, the one he had whenever he looked into those eyes and found himself lost in them. She seemed to be a little more at ease, probably from the confidence that was brimming from Vincent.

Unfortunately his attention was abruptly diverted from them when the sound of a vehicle's engine became audible, coming from somewhere outside. Michael closed the door and stepped off to the side of it, rifle held at the ready. Vincent stepped towards the side of the tent, peering through a slight tear in the tent's plastic at what was outside.

The few prawns that had been wandering around outside had scattered when an MNU armoured transport rolled up, its white paint scheme glistening in the sunlight. The rear doors opened and about six armed MNU mercenaries in combat gear shuffled out, scattering around the tent as they did. One of them had a megaphone with him and he put it to his mouth, his features creased into a mean looking frown.

"Shit, they're here," Linda said. She gripped her rifle close to her chest but Vincent could see that her hands were shaking. Vincent felt a little nervous as well, able to see that the mercenaries outside were forming a perimeter around the tent.

Michael seemed a little shaken towards their overall situation while Carl was rather calm. He stood by one side of the door, awaiting the inevitable forced entry the mercenaries would undertake.

Outside, the mercenary with the megaphone spoke, his tone stern and no-nonsense.

"_Okay, Carl Davis, we know you're in there,"_ the mercenary announced, _"It's recommended you give yourself up, otherwise we are permitted to use lethal force…"_

Vincent counted about seven mercenaries in total: five out the front and two on the sides. He and Linda had obviously arrived in District 10 at a bad time.

"_Come out, Carl Davis, with your hands above your head and you won't get hurt. The same goes for anyone else who is with him. Come out with your hands above your heads and this won't get ugly…"_

"Bullshit," Vincent said. They would all be arrested, interrogated and probably experimented on, or in Linda's case thrown into a jail cell and left to rot.

"They've got us surrounded," Michael said, stating the obvious, "All they have to do is open fire. This tent isn't bulletproof…"  
"What do we do?" Linda asked, her voice edged with anxiety. Vincent took a deep breath, shaking his head. _What do we do?_ That was a damn good question.

He looked around the inside of the tent and realized something he hadn't really thought about before: this tent was constructed of a flimsy white plastic and thus they weren't necessarily restricted to using the front door. The first hints of a plan began to formulate in his mind. He could have smiled if he was able to.

"I have an idea," he said.


	26. An Interesting Afternoon

**An Interesting Afternoon  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1425 Hours

It didn't take much to tear through the plastic of the tent. Vincent found an already made tear to start from and poked the claws of one hand through, ripping from this tear and creating a makeshift opening in the back of the tent. Behind it was a narrow alley that went through this particular block of tents and at this point in time it was pretty much empty. Above the sun shone harshly and a gentle but warm breeze billowed through the alley. It was a warm day today, perhaps a little too warm for Vincent's liking.

Grasping the bulky Popleekwan weapon Vincent climbed through the newly torn hole in the back of the tent. He kept watch on the alley once he was through, looking down both ways as Linda climbed through after him. She was followed by Michael and then Carl, the group emerging into the alley just seconds before the mercenaries out the front kicked down the tent's flimsy plastic door.

There was shouting from within the tent and Carl swivelled around to look back through the hole. The Popleekwan weapon he gripped fired, a lance of shimmering electric-like energy shooting forth from the end of the barrel. One of the mercenaries who had stormed inside the tent exploded into a bloody mess, splattering himself all over the inside of the tent. The other mercenary with him started shooting, bullets tearing through the plastic in the tent and zipping through the air near the fleeing group.

Vincent started running down the length of the alley, pushing aside a wandering prawn as he went. Linda, Michael and Carl followed shortly behind while the mercenaries started flowing into the alley in pursuit of the group.

Rifles fired and bullets clipped the ground near the group's feet, some ricocheting off while others stuck themselves in the dirt. By now the prawns hanging around in the alley way had started fleeing while ne rather brave prawn started charging towards the mercenaries. He was cut down in a hail of rifle fire, convulsing with each bullet that impacted him as he fell.

Vincent's heart was racing as he lead the group through the alley, doing his best to dodge the bullets that came his way. He hobbled slightly on his still aching leg, the wound there gradually starting to hurt again. It was frustrating to be slowed down by it to say the least and soon enough he found himself tailing behind the others, trying to run on the leg but finding that this was far too difficult.

"I know the way," Michael announced, taking the lead. Vincent could only nod, too preoccupied with his aching leg and the fact that there were several MNU mercenaries trailing behind them.

The group emerged out onto one of the larger dirt "streets" of the district where many prawns were hanging around, sifting through rubbish heaps or simply lying around in the sun. The sounds of weapons fire got the attention of most of the prawns out here, some of them racing for cover while others simply stood and watched.

Vincent stopped and turned around, counting about four mercenaries some distance behind them. He brought up his Popleekwan rifle and fired a few shots, splattering two of the mercenaries and leaving the other two of race for cover. Rifle fire zipped through the air around him as the remaining two mercenaries fired from cover. Vincent remained unfazed and blasted in the directions of the two mercenaries, one shot hitting a mercenary in the arm as he blind-fired from around the corner of a shack. His arm exploded into a bloody mess and the mercenary tumbled backwards, screaming loudly as blood erupted in geysers from the severed arteries in his arm.

The sound of a vehicle's engine caught the attention of the group as an MNU Jeep sped into view from around a corner up ahead. On the back a mercenary was cheerfully manning the mounted gun and he pulled the trigger as the Jeep rolled into view. The mounted gun barked and explosions of dirt erupted from the ground near Vincent, sending him diving to the ground as the Jeep came to a halt at the other side of the street.

Linda remained crouched behind some old wooden crates, mumbling to herself while she gripped her rifle to her chest. She seemed scared out of her wits, something that was understandable since she had obviously never been in this sort of situation before. A few high-powered rounds slammed into the top of the crates, sending splinters of wood flying over her head. She ducked instinctively, still mumbling to herself.

The other mercenary back in the alleyway behind them came out of cover and resumed firing, spraying rifle rounds in Vincent's direction. Vincent, still on the ground, brought up his Popleekwan rifle and blasted the mercenary, blowing him all over the width of the alleyway.

The mercenary manning the mounted gun on the Jeep seemed to be enjoying himself, shouting numerous profanities as he swept the heavy gun's fire across where the group was taking cover. Michael leaned from behind the overturned table where he had taken cover, spraying rifle fire in the Jeep's direction. Bullets pinged off of the metal and the windscreen shattered inwards, the driver's brains being blown from the back of his head. The mercenary on the mounted gun kept firing but Michael managed to adjust his aim appropriately, his rifle fire blowing a chunk out of the mercenary's leg. The mercenary went down screaming and fell off of the rear of the Jeep, the mounted gun falling silent. Michael stood up and shot a few more rounds at the wounded mercenary, silencing him for good.

What followed was a brief silence as the group gathered their bearings, trying to work out what to do next. Michael seemed to be the most confident in the subject as he started down the street, gesturing to the others in the group to follow him. Linda was the last to get up, still muttering to herself while her hands shook involuntarily.

There would be mercenaries flowing into the district from all sides now, especially since it seemed logical to assume that at least one of them had called for help. Vincent decided that the sooner they got over this rescue the better. He still had difficulty on his wounded leg and so hobbled a little way behind the rest of the group as they made their way down the street, sticking to cover out the front of the shacks and tents on this side.

"The whole area around Iris' shack is cordoned off," Michael said as they walked, breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen among the group.

"Did they arrest Iris as well?" Carl asked, sounding distant. He was probably thinking about his grandson, Lawrence, who had been arrested by MNU along with Wikus.

"I think so," Michael replied, solemn.

If Vincent's memory served correctly, Iris was the human name for one of the females who worked in the resistance. It was generally regarded that she had a thing for Wikus, even if the ex-human didn't really share these feelings.

Vincent gripped his Popleekwan rifle close when he heard the sound of a helicopter overhead. He looked up, watching as an MNU helicopter buzzed overhead but otherwise didn't react to the presence of the four armed fugitives down below. Either it didn't notice them or it was now reporting their position to MNU's ground force. Vincent was quite confident that it was the latter and so picked up his pace a little, still unable to put too much weight on his wounded leg.

Carl stopped and raised his Popleekwan rifle, taking aim at the helicopter as it passed overhead. Vincent was about to protest but Carl fired the weapon before the younger prawn had a chance to say anything. The lance of energy collided with the underbelly of the helicopter, shooting clean through it and severing one of the rotor blades. The helicopter, now emitting a thick trail of smoke, began spiralling towards the ground, disappearing behind a row of tents. A massive fireball erupted from behind the tents, sending pieces of helicopter flying out all over the street.

"That was unnecessary," Vincent said bluntly.

Carl shot him a cruel gaze, lowering his Popleekwan rifle as he did so.

"No, it wasn't," he replied, his tone cold. Vincent could tell that Carl was angry, more so than he had ever seen the old prawn get before.

The group continued down the street, following Michael's lead as they stuck to the cover out the front of the tents and shacks on this side.

Michael took them into another alley, this one passing through a sizeable block. There were several prawns hanging around her, sifting through garbage or squabbling over trivial findings. They managed some looks at the group of armed fugitives but otherwise did little else but mind their own business.

The alley opened onto another street, except this one was populated by a few MNU armoured personnel carriers and several mercenaries. A roadblock had been set up further down the street, obviously part of the cordon that Michael had mentioned. The group stopped at the end of the alley where it opened onto the street, crouching into the shadows as they surveyed what was up ahead.

Linda had fallen silent, the look on her face betraying her thoughts: What am I even doing here? Vincent was beginning to think the same thing but it didn't take much to remind him of why he was here: he was here to help save the resistance and that meant rescuing Wikus and Lawrence, even if Carl might have been against rescuing the former. And no rescue mission was without its risks, such as the numerous MNU forces who stood between them and the captives that had to be rescued.

Looking at the MNU positions, Vincent counted a dozen mercenaries at the first roadblock. There were plenty more patrolling the area and some were even in the process of forcing the prawns in residence in the area out of their homes. Iris' shack was at the centre of it all and was the location where Wikus, Lawrence and Iris had been taken prisoner. Vincent knew that to rescue them he, Carl, Michael and Linda would have to act fast. MNU personnel were probably in the process of loading the trio into an APC now in order to have them transported out of the district. If MNU did this then it would be impossible to rescue them and it would be too late to anyway. The fate of the resistance seemed to have fallen on Vincent and the rest of the little group, all four of which were now wanted fugitives. Today, it seemed, had started off ordinarily enough. Now things had gotten quite…interesting. If possible, Vincent would have preferred to have stayed at home with Linda for company but obviously fate had been against him and disallowed him to carry out this particular day-plan.

"Iris' shack isn't far," Michael said, shifting his gaze from the MNU mercenaries up ahead and back towards the rest of the group. He didn't look too confident, a feeling that Vincent and Linda shared. Carl, on the other hand, kept himself silently determined.

"That's a lot of mercenaries," Linda said, "How are we going to get through all of them?"

"We shoot our way through," Carl replied, his tone blunt. Vincent could see that the old prawn was quite serious in this plan, even if it was close to a suicide. Linda seemed to be sharing this thought.

"If I wanted to kill myself I would have done it already," she said, frowning, "besides, we can't just shoot our way through. Before you know it we'll have every mercenary in the district on our arses…And how many is that? Two hundred? Two hundred and fifty?"

There was an uneasy silence as neither of the four could actually come up with a suitable response and suitable plan. Up ahead the mercenaries milled about, rifles slung around their shoulders while. Some had grouped and were talking happily, obviously bored with the guard duties that they had been given.

"If none of you are going to go I'll go by myself," Carl said. He was serious about this as well and was about to step out into the street when Vincent grabbed him by the shoulder.

"You can't be serious," Vincent said, "You'll get killed."

Carl was angry, Vincent could see that. The old prawn shot a mean gaze at the younger one, wriggling out of the grip he had on his shoulder.

"My grandson's been arrested," Carl said, "I'm not going to stand by and let them take him off to some facility to be experimented on. If I go there's a chance I'll be able to get him. If that means none of you are going to help me, so be it."

"You're stubborn," Michael commented.

"Better than being a coward," Carl replied. Michael had no response to this.

"Nobody said we weren't going to go," Vincent said. They didn't have much of a choice: it was imperative they get Wikus at the very least; he was the main resistance organizer and without him they didn't have much of a chance in their fight for freedom. Without him the resistance would go back to the mess it was before Wikus came along, with disjointed hit-and-run raids and typical other trouble-making activities such as derailing trains.

"Well, as much as I would like to charge in with all guns blazing," Linda said wryly, a look of doubt etched on her face, "but I think we need a plan. A really good one if we're to have any chance of rescuing these friends of yours." She looked at Vincent and the prawn gave the equivalent of a smile. She obviously couldn't tell what it was and so continued to look at him carefully.

"Any suggestions then, human?" Carl asked, his tone sharp.

Linda was silent. After a few seconds of thought she just shrugged and Carl just shook his head.

"Typical human," he commented, "She wants to help but doesn't know how."

"I can understand you, you know," Linda snapped, shooting a rather angered look towards the old prawn, "So if you're going to be an arsehole near me, don't speak…I mean, _click_…" She trailed off, before adding, "Don't click so loudly."

Carl shifted his gaze to Linda, the dislike he felt for the human noticeable on his wizened old features. Vincent had a feeling that some sort of argument was about to erupt. He was about to intervene before it even started but he wasn't fast enough.

"I don't need to take orders from a human," Carl said, taking a step towards Linda. The woman remained unfazed, even if the old prawn was somewhat taller than her.

"And I don't need to take orders from a grumpy, smelly and old prawn like you," Linda replied, her voice laced with annoyance.

"You humans are all the same," Carl said, ignoring the insults that Linda directed his way, "You're all self-centred, arrogant and have complete disregard to the consequences of your actions. You treat me and the rest of my race like we're animals…"

"Hang on," Linda interrupted, "I'm one of the few humans who actually gives a damn about your people. I've actually taken the time to learn about your race and I know that you're not animals. You're obviously capable of displaying much intelligence and deserve better. That's why I've been taking the time to help those of your kind who live in District 9. Just ask Vincent, he knows what I do. He's even helped me out a few times." She looked at Vincent. "Tell him, Vincent."

Carl was annoyed, this much could be determined from the pheromones that he was emitting. The old prawn didn't seem too interested in hearing Vincent's testimony but the younger prawn delivered it anyway.

"She's telling the truth," Vincent said, "Not all humans are the same, Carl. There are some who actually care about us. It is MNU that is primarily to blame for the way we are now…"

"You don't get it, do you?" Carl sounded angry but it was his own sort of controlled, level rage. His tone was incisive and was enough to make Vincent feel uneasy. "The humans are influencing _us_, Vincent. They're controlling us. They're making us more like _them_. They give us human names, place us in human dwellings…I'm old enough to see what harm they've been causing to our culture. You, Vincent, are far too young. In fact, you're young enough to have been influenced heavily." Carl paused for a moment before continuing. What he was saying struck Vincent as making a lot of sense and it only furthered the younger prawn's uncertainty.

"You're mannerisms are all wrong, Vincent," Carl said, "You barely communicate with pheromones, you nod and shake your head like a human, you try and make human expressions…You're _too_ human, Vincent. Far too human."

Michael had been listening to all of this from the sidelines and stepped in at this point, sounding a little unsure of himself.

"That's harsh, Carl," he said simply, "And you know that."

"The truth is sometimes harsh," Carl replied, glancing at Michael, "And the same sort of truths apply to you, Michael. You're much like Vincent, you're just not a disgrace to your own species…"

"I am not a disgrace to our people," Vincent heard himself saying. He was still trying to digest the implications of what Carl was saying, noticing that the old prawn was dead serious in all the points he was making. It stuck Vincent that yes, maybe he was too human. The way Carl was making it sound, it was as if this was something to be ashamed of. Was it something to be ashamed of?

"You may as well be a human," Carl said. His tone wasn't one of anger or hatred…it was one of mere statement of fact. And this made what he was saying to Vincent all the more angering.

"Hey, you two should just quit getting at each other's throats," Linda interjected. Vincent's heart was pounding and he had taken a step towards Carl, unsure of what he would do to the old prawn but fairly certain that it would shut him up. Linda's voice calmed him down though and it was enough to drive some sense into his mind. Vincent relaxed, realizing that Carl's words meant nothing. Vincent was doing whatever he could to help the Popleekwan race and just because one old prawn thought of him as a "disgrace" it didn't mean that everyone else thought the same thing.

"I have to agree with the human," Michael said, looking at Vincent, "You shouldn't let what Carl says get to you. I think the old man's just guilt-ridden since he hasn't stopped blaming himself for what happened on the ship all those years ago…"

"You wouldn't know anything about what happened," Carl snapped, angered pheromones wafting off of him as he spoke, "You hadn't even been born then!"

"That may be the case, but you're always saying how you could have repaired the engines, how maybe you could have saved the last of the leader caste, maybe you…"

"Shut up!" Carl was angry now and this sudden command silenced Michael mid-sentence. What followed was an uneasy silence, backgrounded by the sounds of the gentle breeze billowing through the alley they were standing in. The mercenaries at the roadblock out on the street were talking casually, unaware of the presence of the four fugitives. Somewhere nearby a helicopter flew, hovering over the smoking wreck of the last one that Carl had shot down earlier.

"I thought we came here to rescue some friends of yours," Linda said, "Not argue about some trivial matters. Besides Vincent, this old prawn…He doesn't know what he's talking about." She nodded towards Carl much to the old prawn's chagrin.

"I like you for who you are," Linda said, shifting her gaze back to Vincent, "and there isn't anything you need to do to change yourself. You're fine just the way you are now…"

"She's just another human influence on you, Vincent," Carl said, "By the way you two look at each other, I would be inclined to think you slept together…"

Vincent collected his thoughts. Sure, Carl had a point about the whole "too human" thing but what was wrong with that? Vincent wasn't the same as Carl and obviously the old prawn couldn't accept this. Carl was too deep in his own self-hatred, blaming himself for the original incident that got the ship stranded on this planet in the first place. And so he took out this inner anger and everyone around him. The only one he didn't seem to not like was Lawrence, primarily because Lawrence was his grandson. He probably felt some sort of responsibility over the young prawn, seeing as Lawrence's parents had been killed by MNU mercenaries some years ago.

Whatever other thoughts Vincent could have added to this were lost when the sound of weapons fire erupted from nearby. Something punctured a hole in the tent that was on the prawn's left, resounding with a shallow _putt!_

The group scattered just as the mercenaries up ahead shifted their attention in their direction. One of the mercenaries had somehow spotted them, probably having been alerted to their presence by the constant bickering that had been taking place between the group's members. Now there were about a dozen mercenaries all scattering and all firing in the directions of the scattering members of the group, Vincent included.

Vincent tried running but his wounded leg erupted in pain once again, thus he found himself limping for the nearest piece of cover. He dived behind a set of old wooden boxes, ones that had once carried rations for the inhabitants of this part of District 10. Now they lay discarded outside a tent, subjected to the elements. Nearby Linda had ducked back into the alleyway while Carl and Michael had taken cover behind a parked MNU Jeep.

Up ahead the mercenaries had started spraying rifle fire across the positions of the fugitives, rounds tearing up the wooden crates Vincent was crouched behind. The prawn leaned around one side of the stack and opened fire with his Popleekwan arc cannon, the lance of energy shimmering through the air as it flash-liquefied the nearest mercenary. This mercenary ended up splattered across the ground, scorched articles of clothing sent flying outwards.

The other mercenaries started racing for cover, some still firing their rifles as they went. Vincent ignored the few rounds that clipped the crates he was crouched behind, taking aim at a mercenary who had started running to the right, headed for cover behind a tent. Vincent didn't have qualms in killing MNU mercenaries, it came with being involved in the resistance. Thus he was quite calm and level-headed, even as numerous bullets pelted the crates he was crouched behind.

The arc cannon bucked slightly in his grip and the mercenary exploded into a rather bloody mess, splattering the front of the tent he had been headed for. The red blood contrasted sharply with the white of the tent, giving the impression of an abstract work of art.

Vincent stood up as the mercenaries scattered, watching as some had started to fall back. He couldn't help but feel good about himself as he stepped from cover, blasting another mercenary as he ran into view. The others had started retreating, some heading for cover behind the parked MNU APCs. One of them was barking into his radio, ordering backup. Vincent took aim and silenced this particular mercenary, the arc of energy hitting the mercenary square in the face. The top half of him exploded and left nothing but a mutilated pair of legs lying on the ground, something wet and slimy trailing from where the waist had once met the torso.

Both Carl and Michael had started to follow in Vincent's wake. Some mercenaries still managed to fire a few shots in the trio's direction but any that did expose themselves were hastily silenced by the Popleekwan-built weapons that both Vincent and Carl wielded. Further back, Linda had emerged from hiding and was treading slowly in the wake of the trio of armed prawns.

"Iris' shack should be just down this road," Michael announced. Vincent nodded in acknowledgement, spotting movement just off to the left. It was a mercenary and he squeezed off a shot seconds before Vincent blasted him away, splattering the mercenary all over the side of one of the parked APCs.

Somewhere up ahead a stern looking grey-haired human barked orders into his radio. He went for cover as the group approached, the name on his vest reading as 'KELLER'.

The group edged their way past the APCs that blocked the road. Vincent almost jumped back in surprise when he found a young looking brown-haired human mercenary standing behind one of the APCs and who was now only about a metre away. The mercenary overcame his immediate surprise and went to raise his rifle, only for part of his head to explode as a rifle shot sounded from nearby. Vincent looked over at the shot's source and found Michael standing nearby, his human-built Vektor R4 rifle clutched in his hands and smoking from the barrel.

"Thanks," Vincent said. Michael nodded in acknowledgement and the group continued on.

Several mercenaries were further down the street, taking cover behind temporary barricades that had been set up to help in cordoning off the area. Vincent went for cover behind a parked MNU Jeep that was located near the entrance to Iris' shack, surprised to find that there was a portable cage resting on the back seat.

Ignoring the rifle bullets that pelted into the chassis of the Jeep, Vincent peered curiously into the cage and was surprised to see a young prawn, perhaps only a couple of years old, cowering within. What the hell was that doing inside a cage in the back of a Jeep that was now in the middle of a firefight? Vincent shook off his immediate incredulity and picked up the cage, setting it down on the ground near him as several rifle rounds slammed into the metal of the Jeep that was closest to his head.

The prawn, or "prawnling" as the nickname went, looked to be a female. It was scared out of its wits judging by the pheromones it emitted and the fact it was curled into a foetal position in the middle of the cage, burying its head under its claws. Vincent found the latch to open the front of the cage and released it, helping the young prawn out. It clutched at him tightly, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck for support. It was whimpering, if only faintly.

Vincent crouched behind the Jeep, trying to catch sight of the others. Linda came running over, crouching down near him behind the Jeep as well. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the prawnling that Vincent was holding to his chest with his left hand. Across the street both Michael and Carl were in cover, firing away at the mercenaries up ahead. Vincent watched as another mercenary was cut down by Michael's precise rifle fire.

"Where did you find that?" Linda asked, nodding to the prawnling that Vincent clutched in his left hand. She had to raise her voice in order to be heard above the racket that was the weapons fire and shouting.

"I just found her," Vincent replied. He didn't have much of a chance to elaborate on this since a mercenary came charging around the side of the Jeep, a SPAS-12 shotgun clutched in his grip.

Vincent gripped his arc cannon in his right claw and shifted his aim as the mercenary came charging, pulling the trigger seconds before the mercenary went for his own weapon's trigger. Blood sprayed all over Vincent, Linda and Vincent's newfound prawnling, the mercenary's helmet landing nearby with a trail of blood streaming from it. Linda screamed in utter surprise and disgust, wiping away the blood that sprayed into her eyes while spitting out what of it had gone in her mouth.

Outside of Iris' shack was a single APC, one that had its rear doors open. Vincent caught sight of a mercenary escorting a familiar looking prawn into the rear passenger section, the mercenary forcing the prawn along at gunpoint. The prawn was Lawrence and there was no doubt in Vincent's mind that Wikus and Iris were inside the APC as well. As well as the APC there was a rather large cargo truck parked further past the shack. This truck had started to depart now, its tires kicking up dirt as the driver floored the accelerator. As it departed the stern grey-haired human jumped on the back, grabbing hold while he shot one hell of a mean gaze at Vincent. There was something about that human, something he didn't like…

Vincent went to fire his arc cannon but before he could the truck and the human had gone. Instead, Vincent's attention was diverted to the main firefight as several rifle rounds pounded into the Jeep and shattered its windscreen.

Standing up with the prawnling held with his left claw while it held onto his neck for support, Vincent swept his gaze across the area ahead. There were a number of mercenaries scattered across the street, most behind some form of cover as they exchanged fire with Carl and Michael. Vincent took aim with the arc cannon which he still gripped in his right claw, blowing away one of the mercenaries as the human came up to fire.

Vincent looked down at Linda who was still crouched behind the Jeep, looking reluctant to stand up. This was understandable since she looked terrified.

"Come on, I know where we have to go," he said, nodding towards the APC which he had seen Lawrence get forced into, "They're in that APC..." From the look of things it would be leaving within moments so without waiting for Linda to follow, Vincent took off on his wounded leg and done his best to ignore the pain that erupted from it.

At the same time, backup for the mercenaries here arrived in the form of another pair of APCs and a pair of Jeeps. Carl and Michael remained out on the street, trying to best to hold off the overwhelming amount of MNU hired soldiers who came at them. Vincent knew that he didn't have much time before they were overrun, so he would have to act quickly once he reached the APC. There was no point in getting himself or anyone else killed, especially Wikus.

The female prawnling he clutched held onto him tightly, unsure of just what was happening but terrified anyway. Vincent patted it on the back in a reassuring manner, even as he ran into another potentially dangerous situation.


	27. The Rescue

**The Rescue  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1450 Hours

When Lukas Farber regained consciousness he immediately sat up, finding himself seated and still tied up in the passenger section of an MNU APC. His wrists and ankles were bound while seated across from him were two prawns, one being the female that he had seen Sarah arrest earlier and the other being the dark and fairly burly-looking one that Keller had called "Wikus". Wikus was eyeing Lukas carefully, as if uncertain about the human's presence.

The rear doors were opened and a young brown haired mercenary stepped in, holding another prawn at gunpoint. This prawn was the one called Lawrence and he was pushed into the rear of the APC by the mercenary, his wrists bound together by rather strong rope. Once Lawrence was seated the mercenary tied his ankles together, thus ensuring that the prawn was immobilized and unable to try and escape.

Why was Lukas here? Why had he been tied up and arrested? His memory of what had happened inside the shack was a blur and it took him a moment or two to sift through this haze of memories. The alien pod, the black ooze, his right eye…

As if on cue his right eye throbbed painfully, yet he could see clearly through it. In fact, everything seemed a little _too_ clear through his right eye, as if the clarity of his otherwise perfect vision had increased. This unnerved him, especially when he remembered what had happened.

His eye…It didn't feel right. It fact, it felt far from right. There was a strange tingling sensation erupting from the flesh around it, starting down his right cheek. He couldn't put a hand there to feel it since both of his hands were tied together. Instead, he took a look around the inside of the APC and found his reflection in one of the small windows near the ceiling.

He sat up and turned to peer into the reflective glass, able to make out a somewhat transparent view of himself. Outside in the street some sort of firefight had erupted and the sounds of weapons fire were clearly audible as mercenaries exchanged fire with some unseen enemy. However, the shootout was the least of Lukas' worries when he saw what had happened to his right eye and the right half of his face.

His right eye had gone golden-yellow and the pupil had changed into something feline-like. Around the eye and down the cheek faint black splotches had begun to form while a closer look revealed that there seemed to be something writhing around under the skin. It was almost as if what was changing him was _alive_ and was spreading down his face.

What was happening to him? He sat back down, trying to clear his head. His right eye, it was almost like…a prawn eye. What did that mean? That he was turning into a prawn?

No, that was impossible. People couldn't just turn into an entirely different species; it was against the laws of medical science, not that Lukas knew much about the laws of medical science. He couldn't come up with any other explanation to do with his changes, so maybe…no, it was preposterous. He couldn't believe the situation he now found himself in.

Why had he been tied up? Keller had mentioned something about "keeping an eye out for cases like his" or something along those lines. What did that mean? That Keller had been _waiting_ for something like this to happen to somebody? This implied that there was something much more profound going on and Lukas realized that his uncertainties about Keller were not unfounded. The man had been hiding something, perhaps a secret set of orders his superiors had given him…But why Lukas? Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it have been Sarah Taylor or that Marinus Venter guy?

Lukas struggled against the ropes at his wrists. His heart was racing now, especially when the implications of all of this began to hit home. He realized that if he fell into the hands of MNU they would probably want to experiment on him, perhaps even dissect him. He was a freak after all, one that seemed to be having some rather nasty changes take place on his face. What would his wife think when he rocked up at home with a prawn eye for a right eye? What was stopping the changes from spreading all throughout his system?  
Nothing was stopping them, apparently. He could feel something under his skin, working its way down his face and through his bloodstream. There was something alien inside him and it seemed to be multiplying, like a virus. He needed medical help, he knew that. He just couldn't work out how he was going to get out of his current situation, being tied up in the back of an APC with three other prawns. Why was he being treated like some sort of criminal? He hadn't done anything wrong, at least nothing he knew about. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It had to do with that black ooze that had been seeping out of the alien pod inside the shack. He had gotten some in his eye and now…now it had changed, as was part of his face. The changes were occurring slowly but surely and he knew he needed help if he was to stop them. He had a wife and daughter for Christ's sake, he couldn't get arrested just because of some accident with some alien technology. Why the hell was this all happening to him?

There was the possibility of bawling his eyes out and it crossed his mind in that moment. It didn't take much thinking to realize that bawling his eyes out was the mere sissy way of dealing with all the crap that was happening to him. He had to escape, even if that meant he might become a wanted fugitive. No doubt that MNU wanted alive for whatever scientific goodies his changing physiology contained, even if the changes were currently limited to his face. He had to get out of here somehow, even if it meant hurting somebody.

The prawns here had something to do with what was happening, especially the one called Wikus. Wikus was still watching him carefully, as if thinking about what to do. Iris had her head down, preferring to look at the floor while Lawrence, the youngest of the group, was struggling against the ropes that tied him up. The mercenary that had escorted him inside the APC pressed the barrel of his rifle into the young prawn's side, inclining him to stop struggling against the ropes. Lawrence relaxed and sat back in his seat and the mercenary went back outside, keeping watch on the rear. There was a sudden burst of automatic rifle fire from nearby and the front windscreen smashed inwards, the driver convulsing in his seat as his several explosions of blood erupted from his chest. The mercenary standing near the rear disappeared from view, probably heading off to join in the firefight. For now, it seemed, the prisoners were left to their own devices.

Lukas remembered that he had his mobile phone in his pocket. Maybe if he could get it out he could call someone, maybe his wife, maybe a friend from work…He had to tell someone what happened and he would have to make sure that the someone he called wasn't in league with MNU. His hands were tied together and were behind his back, thus it was near impossible to actually reach into his pocket and take out his mobile phone. The idea quelled, he took another look around and saw that with the driver dead he had an open chance at taking the dead man's pistol. How he would handle it with his hands tied behind his back was beyond him but it was the only chance he had and he wasn't about to pass it up.

Lukas shifted across the seat, the three prawns in the passenger section with him all shifted their gazes onto him. He froze, able to tell that they were a little perplexed as to what he was doing.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Wikus asked. Lukas took the prawn's gaze as a frown and so shrugged in response.

"Trying to get out of here," Lukas replied, "So how about you just shut the hell up and leave me to do what I want to do. Last thing I need is some prawn telling me what I can and can't do…" Lukas laughed, why he didn't know. Maybe it was the overall futility of his situation. Maybe it was what was happening to him. Whatever it was, he realized then just how hopeless his situation was. He sat back down in his seat and tried to sort through the conflicting emotions he felt. Wikus was watching him, perhaps trying to work out what to say.

"I can help you," he said suddenly. Lukas looked up, frowning. How the hell could a prawn even be able to remotely help him? Wikus was in just a hopeless position as Lukas was.

"You can help me?" Lukas laughed again. What a joke this all was. When he had woken up this morning he hadn't reckoned on developing a prawn eye in place of his right eye and getting arrested because of it.

"Yes, I can fucking help you!" Wikus snapped, losing his temper suddenly. Lukas raised an eyebrow as the prawn struggled against the ropes that tied his claws behind his back. He seemed to be rather determined in breaking free and kept it up for about half a minute.

"I think I'll just sit here and wait and see what happens," Lukas said, resigned. What was the point? They were all tied up and all loaded into the back of an APC, all of them close to being transported out of the district and probably to some MNU facility.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead and do that," Wikus replied as he struggled against the ropes at his wrists, "That way those pricks in MNU can dissect you. Don't you see? You're a fucking freak now and trust me; the eye's just the first thing to go…"

"What?" Lukas raised an eyebrow. He could tell that the prawn was serious in what he was saying, perhaps unnervingly so.

"You heard me," Wikus replied, "It's not going to stop at the eye. Fuck no, it's going to spread all throughout your system. And it's going to hurt. It's going to hurt like _fucking hell_."  
Lukas' heart jumped a beat when he heard this. How could this prawn know so much about it anyway? Lukas was fairly certain that modern medicine could help him out but when some bad-mouthed prawn was telling him otherwise he couldn't help but feel uneasy.

"That pod that was back in the shack," Wikus continued, finally giving up on the ropes at his wrist. He took a deep breath, his antennae bristling in resignation. "If I got it working, maybe I could fix you. _Maybe_. But you're going to have to trust me…"

"_Trust _you?" Lukas laughed again. Here he was, in a close to hopeless situation with an angry bad-mouth prawn for company and the alien was telling him to _trust_ him? "Why the hell should I trust you? It was the pod that started this…"

"And it can fix it," Wikus said, "I would know. So, are you going to let me help you or are you going to let yourself get dragged off to some fucking MNU facility to be experimented on?"

"Look, I'd prefer to take my chances rather than trust you," Lukas said. This was true enough: he wasn't about to lay faith in some prawn he had only just recently met. All he needed to do was escape and get out of the district somehow and head off to a hospital somewhere…At least, he thought this was a good idea. It dawned on him that maybe heading to a public hospital would just open him up to be recaptured. Was he a fugitive now? Not quite: he had to escape his captors first.

Outside the firefight still raged. Lukas had only some idea as to why it was raging and who between. He could tell that Wikus was fairly important in the prawn resistance overall so maybe there were some brave prawns enacting a rescue mission? If this was the case then Lukas was probably best to escape before the rescuers arrived.

"Oh, you're just fucking smart, aren't you?" Wikus asked, some hint of annoyance appearing on his alien features, "You don't stand a chance out there by yourself. You'll be fucked over before you have a chance to get clear of the district…"

"And you would know, huh?" Lukas asked in return. Wikus seemed to be quite adamant that he knew what he was talking about, even if Lukas didn't quite believe him.

"Yes, I would know," Wikus replied, his tone a little more calm now. Somewhere outside an alien weapon barked and a splatter of blood appeared on the window near Lukas' head. The engineer ducked instinctively, thinking that the prawn rebels were on their way here.

"If you let me help you there's a chance you won't have to spend the rest of your life as a fucking prawn," Wikus said. Lukas was perplexed as to why Wikus was referring to his own race in this fashion, thinking that maybe there was something a little more to this prawn than originally met the eye.

"I can't make any fucking guarantees," Wikus added, "So, the choice is now or never: Are you going to let me help you or are you going to try and play some sort of fucking hero and go off on your own?"

The latter option, to do with playing hero, was perhaps more appealing to Lukas than the former option. Why should he have to put trust in an alien he had only met today and seemed to have a bad mouth on him?

"I think I'll just wait and see what happens," Lukas replied. Wikus groaned, shaking his head.

"You're a fucking moron, you know that?" Wikus asked.

Lukas smiled. Insults from a prawn weren't all that…well, they weren't very insulting at all.

"And you're a smelly fucking prawn," Lukas replied bluntly, "Why should I have to put trust in you? You'll probably eat me or something."  
Wikus scoffed.

"Eat you? Are you fucking daft?" The prawn seemed to laugh but it was hard to tell. "Does it look like I want to eat you?"  
Lukas shrugged.

"I don't know…"

"Look, that's beside the fucking point. What I'm telling you is that if you let yourself be taken in by the pricks from MNU, you're going to die…one way or another. They'll dissect you, you're a freak. Just look at your face…"

Lukas put a hand to the area under his altered right eye, able to feel something rough and hard had developed just underneath. This feeling was blotted down his right cheek and had just started building at the base of his jaw. It felt like a hardened exoskeleton, much like that of a prawn. He swallowed, realizing that there was something dreadfully wrong with him. He trailed a finger down the side of his face, small clumps of skin rolling off as he did. It didn't hurt, the skin on that half of his face feeling somewhat…dead. As if it wasn't a part of him anymore.

_What's happening to me?_ He thought, taking his hand away from his face. Maybe he was changing into a prawn…and the thought unnerved him greatly. There had to be a way to stop the change, perhaps even reverse what had already been done. He looked at Wikus who seemed to be awaiting an answer. The female, Iris, was looking at Lukas as well. If the engineer wasn't mistaken he could swear that there was a hint of concern on the female prawn's alien features.

"What are you looking at?" Lukas snapped at the female and she seemed to slink back into her seat in response to the human's anger. The engineer was on edge now, especially when the realization of what was happening to him hit home. What would his wife think? What would his daughter think? What would anyone think when they found out what was happening to him?

Lukas buried his head in his hands, unable to quite understand why this was happening to him. He should have known that becoming part of this new "specialist team" would lead to trouble. He just hadn't reckoned on what _kind_ of trouble it would be. Now here he was, with a prawn eye for a right eye and some sort of alien ooze flowing through his system. He felt a little nauseous but not as much as he had been earlier. Outside there seemed to be some sort of shootout going on while inside he was in the company of an annoying prawn who wouldn't stop pestering and swearing at him.

"What do you say?" Wikus asked.

Lukas looked up.

"I say we need to actually escape first," Lukas said, "And we're sort of all tied up at the moment. So, until we're free of these damn ropes we can't really start planning ahead."

"I didn't get your name…" Wikus was about to finish but Lukas replied before the prawn had a chance to.

"Lukas. Lukas Farber."

"I'm Wikus…"

"I know."

Lukas tried the ropes at his wrists once more but to no avail. He sighed, thinking that he would be best off to simply sit here and wait and see what happened. Wikus, on the other hand, had tried getting up but the ropes at his legs sent him tumbling onto the floor.

"Fuck!" He clicked angrily and rolled onto his knees, starting a slow but gradual slide towards the dead driver.

"What are you doing?" The younger prawn, Lawrence, asked from where he was sitting.

"Going for this prick's knife," Wikus replied. There was indeed a combat knife sheathed at the dead driver's waist but how any of them would be able to use it when their hands were tied behind their back was unknown.

Wikus was about halfway to the dead driver when someone came into view at the rear of the APC. Wikus stopped, thinking he had been discovered and so slowly turned around, expecting to find an armed mercenary waiting at the rear doorway.

They were all surprised to see that it was another prawn, this one dark in exoskeleton colour and dressed in a black leather jacket and dark tattered trousers. Supported in one arm was a small prawnling that Lukas recognized as the one he had been hoping to find a suitable home for within the district. In the prawn's right claw was a large alien weapon and it was a fairly intimidating one at that. He seemed to relax when he saw who was inside the APC and Lawrence's gaze lit up noticeably.

"Vincent!" He exclaimed, "I didn't think you were in the district…"

"I came back for today," the prawn known as Vincent replied. His gaze went to Wikus.

"I knew you would come back," Wikus said, simply.

"I knew you would need my help," Vincent replied. He lowered the prawnling and it went straight for Lukas, proceeding to climb onto his lap and chirp happily.

Lukas couldn't understand the fascination it had with him and so shifted uneasily where he sat. The creature smelt rather bad, having remained unwashed for quite some time. It seemed perplexed as to why one of Lukas' eyes was different to the other and so stared transfixed at them for a moment.

Vincent pointed the Popleekwan arc cannon in the human's direction. Lukas froze, fear stabbing into his heart as he saw the gun and the rather stern looking prawn that wielded it.

"Who's this?" Vincent asked.

"He's not a threat," Wikus replied. Vincent relaxed but only slightly, lowering the arc cannon as he did so. There was still some distrust evident on his alien features but he otherwise didn't speak out his uncertainties.

"What's with the eye?" Vincent asked. It took Lukas a moment to realize that the question was directed at him.

"Uh…An accident," Lukas answered.

"What sort of accident?"

"One that I really can't be bothered explaining," Lukas replied. Christ, why was he surrounded by prawns? And why the hell was this Vincent prawn throwing all these questions at him?

"His name's Lukas," Wikus said, "Fucking moron got himself exposed to the gunk coming out of the pod."

"What gunk?" Vincent seemed to frown, although it was sort of hard to tell with a prawn.

"Never mind," Wikus said, shaking his head.

There was a short silence, broken only by the occasional chirp from the prawnling. Vincent took note of this and nodded at the youngling.

"She likes you," he said.

"She?" Lukas frowned. He seriously hadn't been able to tell the gender of the young prawn and thus had assumed it was a male. Upon learning that he was wrong he could only shake his head, incredulous and yet taking the time to look at the youngling in order to find any discerning features that proved its gender as being female.

"Vincent, those fucking MNU pricks took the medical pod," Wikus said. Outside the shooting went on, although it had become somewhat more sporadic.

"They loaded it into a truck outside," Wikus continued, "We have to stop them from taking the fucking thing…"

"Too late," Vincent interrupted bluntly. Wikus stopped and contemplated the meaning of the words for a moment. Seconds later he could only manage the prawn equivalent of an annoyed frown.

"What do you mean?" Wikus asked, "Did the truck already leave?"

"Yes, it did," Vincent replied. He paused, looking unsure of himself before adding, "Is that a bad thing?"

Wikus sighed, wriggling the feelers that hung over his mouth in a rather agitated fashion.

"It's full of the fluid," Wikus said, "If MNU gets a hold of it they'll be able to churn out the super soldiers they've always wanted. We have to get it back, or at the very least we have to destroy the fucking thing."

"Last time I checked, it was your idea to get it in the first place," Lawrence interjected.

"Yes, but I didn't think this would happen," Wikus snapped, shooting the younger prawn an agitated glance. "Don't you fucking get smart, alright Lawrence? Last thing I need is for some smart-arse like you to start telling me what I fucking did wrong, you got that? It pisses me off…_a lot_."

Lawrence fell silent, slinking back where he sat. Lukas could tell that Wikus was the most aggressive of the bunch, perhaps in a way that allowed him to exert some command over the rest of them. Lukas determined that the medical pod in question was the one that had been inside the underground room of the shack. It sounded as if MNU gaining possession of it was a bad thing, although Lukas had no idea why. He had only just been dragged into this mess and it had been purely by accident that this had happened.

"This is all fucked up!" Wikus exclaimed angrily. He shot a mean spirited glance towards Vincent. "Are you going to help us or are you just going to stand there like a fucking idiot?"

Vincent looked around, as if trying to work out the means of freeing the others around him from the ropes. Wikus nodded towards the dead driver, gesturing towards the combat knife sheathed at the dead man's waste.

"This guy's got a knife," Wikus said, just to clarify. Vincent stepped past Wikus and unsheathed the blade, holding it up in the light briefly in order to get a good look at it. The silver blade glinted in the sunlight in an enticing manner and so Vincent went to work on the ropes that bound Wikus, sawing through them with the knife. It wasn't long before Wikus was free and so Vincent went on to free both Lawrence and Iris. He left Lukas for last and even then he seemed to hesitate, uncertain about the human.

Wikus noticed Vincent's uncertainty and simply snatched the knife out of the other prawn's grip. Without much effort Wikus used it to saw through the ropes that had bound Lukas, allowing the human to undertake in a much needed stretch as his muscles ached. The prawnling jumped off of Lukas' lap and stood near his legs, fiddling with a pocket in Lukas' trousers. The engineer nudged the youngling away and stood up, trying to work out whether he was doing the right thing or not. He couldn't help but think he was just going from one hazardous situation and straight into another. Maybe he was right.

"Who else is with you?" Wikus asked Vincent, keeping the blade in the grip of his right claw. Judging by the look in Wikus' golden yellow eyes it seemed the prawn was quite intent on using the weapon if given the appropriate chance. The aggressiveness was there, Lukas could see that much.

"Carl and Michael," Vincent replied. He paused, scratching at the back of his neck shyly. "And there's uh…" He hesitated.

"What?" Wikus frowned.

"And there's this human girl, she's a friend of mine," Vincent finally replied, somewhat sheepishly.

Wikus didn't give the matter any further thought. He stepped outside, followed by Vincent, Lawrence and then Iris. Lukas and the prawnling were last out, stepping into the warm sunshine and what seemed like a fairly gruelling shootout. On the street, taking cover behind a parked Jeep was a young looking human woman, probably the one Vincent had mentioned. There were two prawns nearby as well, crouched behind a wall and firing away at the hordes of MNU mercenaries that were scattered across the street. Rifles barked and rounds pinged off of the metal of the APC near the group.

Lukas stepped back behind it, suddenly scared out of his wits. What the hell was he doing here? A firefight certainly wasn't his place, no way…And yet the prawnling was clutching at his leg, as if it expected him to protect it (or her, if Vincent was right and he most probably was).

Wikus stepped over to a large puddle of blood and what appeared to be pieces of a mercenary that was located on the ground nearby. Resting near the puddle was a Vektor CR21 rifle and Wikus bent down to pick it up, dusting it off with one claw.

"What are we going to do?" Lawrence asked, keeping behind the APC as the mercenaries fired in their direction. "MNU has the pod…How are we going to destroy it if they have it?"

"We'll intercept it, just like we did last week with the convoy," Wikus replied. He sounded both confident and serious in this plan, as if he knew that there was no chance of it failing. Lukas could see that maybe Wikus believed in his plans a little _too_ strongly.

The two prawns and the human woman nearby had started running over, rifle rounds pounding the ground near their feet and zipping through the air around them. They made it safely behind the APC with the others and immediately Lukas sensed the animosity the older of the two prawns felt towards him. This one had a nasty looking scar down one eye while his one good eye regarded the human with some dislike.

"Who's this?" The old prawn asked, looking at Lukas. He seemed to be concentrating on the human's one prawn eye, as if fascinated by it.

"Leave him alone, Carl," Wikus said carefully, "He's with us now."

Nearby the mercenaries had started to push forwards. Immediately Vincent and Michael headed off to combat them, blasting a few of the oncoming mercenaries down as they crossed the street. Lukas had the feeling that he was out of place: first he had had it amongst the mercenaries and Colonel Keller, now he had it here amongst these prawns and the one human woman. She seemed just as terrified as he was, although she did wield an assault rifle. Maybe that was just for the added sense of security it brought and not actually because she was using it.

"The truck with the pod has probably gone out of the district by now," Lawrence said. He seemed somewhat pessimistic but at the same time rather energetic. It looked like he was just busting to go out into the heat of the shootout and start mowing down mercenaries, he just didn't have a gun.

"I doubt it," Wikus said carefully, "They're probably giving it a thorough rundown at the MNU compound nearby."  
"How can you be so sure?" Lukas asked. Wikus turned to look at him, his gaze neutral.

"Unless they're fucking _super_ organized, which I highly doubt," Wikus said, "They'll want to keep it under guard until they can arrange to move it elsewhere. That means they're probably mulling over it at the compound while your boss, that prick of a Colonel, is making the appropriate calls in order to arrange something. It's likely they'll want to move the fucking thing in the middle of the night and in an armed convoy, so we probably have some time before they start moving it out. I know how MNU operates."

"And we're supposed to raid the mercenary compound, just to destroy this medical pod?" Lukas did not like this idea one bit. He was wide eyed with absolute incredulity, unable to quite fathom why anyone would be so confident to participate in a mission as suicidal as the one Wikus was suggesting.

"We have to get out of the district first," Wikus said, sounding a little annoyed at the sheer thought of this.

"I know just the place to go to," Carl said, "It's not far."

"And before we leave this shitty place," Wikus added, "We have to get the fuck away from these mercenaries. They're flowing out of the fucking woodwork."

Lukas couldn't believe what he was hearing. Were all of these prawns really so intent on getting themselves killed over some stupid alien machine? He exchanged glances with the human woman and she just shrugged, unsure of just what to think of the situation. He was thinking that maybe he would have been better off just letting himself get dragged off by MNU but something told him this would also be detrimental to his health. Wikus had said something about MNU wanting to dissect him because of the changes that Lukas' body seemed to be going through. At the thought Lukas put a hand to the right side of his face, scraping away some more shavings of seemingly dead skin.

Lukas' train of thought was effectively derailed when several MNU mercenaries came from around a corner up ahead. They all raised their rifles and opened fire, forcing the group to scatter as bullets pounded into the dirt near them. Lukas felt something fast and hot zip by his left ear and he felt terror strike right into his very being. He was being shot at, something that had never happened once before in his entire lifetime.

The prawnling near his leg chirped in surprise and ducked under the parked APC. Lukas dived to the ground, adrenaline surging through him as the bullets continued to fly. Wikus was returning fire as was Carl, the older prawn firing away with the Popleekwan-built weapon. Arcs of blue-white energy lanced through the air and blew apart any mercenary unfortunate enough to get hit by them.

Lukas crawled into cover behind the parked APC, seeing that there were several mercenaries encroaching on his position. He took a look behind and saw that Wikus had started running, followed by Lawrence, Iris, the human woman and Vincent. Carl and Michael were still firing away at the incoming mercenaries, cutting a few down before they too turned around and started to run.

"This is fucked up," Lukas said. He grabbed the prawnling from underneath the APC and stood up, clutching the alien in one arm as he started to run after the others. Bullets shot through the air around him while some kicked up dirt from the ground near him. He couldn't believe what kind of shit storm he had found himself in but he figured he would be best to go along with it.


	28. Firefight

**Firefight  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1310 Hours

When word reached Colonel George McTavish that there was trouble in District 10, the ex-SAS man wasn't sure on how to react. Part of him wanted to remain calm and collected and organize a means to combat the situation in an efficient and controlled manner. A conflicting part of his mind told him to hell with calm and collectedness and instead was telling him to break something, followed by breaking something else while he beat up the first mercenary he found.

McTavish was dressed in a pale blue Hawaiian shirt and board shorts, having spent the last few hours lounging around near the swimming pool reading the day's newspaper followed by a fair portion of the novel he was in the process of going through. The news of the firefight currently occurring within the district reached his ears via the personal radio that was lying on the table near him. The voice of a young mercenary (they all seemed to be young guys, these mercenaries that MNU was so quick to hire) broke through the relative silence of the swimming pool area. McTavish grabbed the radio, listening to whatever the mercenary had to say.

"_Uh, Colonel McTavish…"_

"What?" McTavish didn't have much of an idea of just why he was being disturbed now and was expecting whatever news the mercenary had would be absolutely dull and menial. It always seemed to be that way.

"_There's…uh…there's trouble, sir,"_ the mercenary said. McTavish frowned.

"Trouble? What sort of trouble?" He asked. He could tell from the mercenary's voice that the merc was uncertain, as if afraid of McTavish's reaction. What kind of trouble could it possibly be if the mercenary was afraid to tell him?

"_Some prawns…they're shooting the place up. We're losing a lot of guys…"_

McTavish considered this information for a moment. To think that peace in the district had been disturbed by a bunch of gun wielding prawns left him in a contradicted frame of mind: should he or shouldn't he lose his temper? He certainly felt like doing so.

"Any idea why?" McTavish asked, needing details before he arranged any countermeasures.

"_It's something to do with that Colonel Keller guy and his team,"_ the mercenary replied, _"They found something and now the prawns are trying to get it back. At least, that's as much as I can determine."_

McTavish huffed. He should have known that Colonel Keller would have brought nothing but trouble into the district. Still, there was a chance to get in touch with Keller and determine the exact nature of the situation. McTavish knew that this sort of resistance from the prawns would only incite more of them to start causing trouble. There was the very distinct possibility of a full-blown revolution and this was one thing McTavish did not need.

"Get as many men as you can and take those prawns down," McTavish ordered, his voice stern and commanding, "I want these dangerous fucking prawns dead within the hour. Is that understood?"

"_Yes—"_

"Actually, I think I might check out what's happening myself," McTavish added, standing up. He started to the sliding glass doors ahead, passing through the estate as he made his way to the front. "Besides, I want to talk to Keller. Something tells me he's the one who started this trouble."

"_Right, sir. I'll get the troops together immediately…"_

"Can you get me in touch with Captain Venter?" McTavish asked, passing through the estate's lounge room. He stepped over to a wooden cabinet on the wall that was off to the right of the large plasma television. It was the centrepiece of his home entertainment system and had cost an appropriately large amount of money.

"_I'm afraid not, sir,"_ the mercenary replied through the radio, _"He's in the district, probably in the thick of the fighting there."_

It was typical of Captain Marinus Venter to drop out of contact. Chances are his radio was off, just so there was no way for it to interrupt the Captain in the middle of a firefight. McTavish would have to complain to the Captain about this habit since it just inconvenienced everyone else.

"What about Keller? Is he in contact?" McTavish asked as he opened the cabinet. Within the cabinet was a black metal Remington shotgun, the type that was often used for riot control and clearing rooms. He pulled it from where it was hung up, grabbing a box of shells from the shelf below it. He started loading shells into the weapon, whistling as he did. He clipped his radio to the front pocket of his Hawaiian shirt whilst thinking that he might be able to get some excitement into his day with what was happening in the district. Maybe the firefight that was occurring wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"_He's just arrived at the compound now,"_ the mercenary replied, _"You could talk to him yourself if you want…Captain Venter's with him as well."_

McTavish raised an eyebrow. If Keller was outside then McTavish would have to go out there and demand some answers from the American. There was undoubtedly a lot going on that Keller hadn't shared with him, thus McTavish would probably need to be a bit more forceful in the means he used to try and get answers.

With the Remington shotgun fully loaded McTavish slid the pump, hearing the satisfying _click-click_ as the weapon became ready to fire. Keeping the weapon clutched in his right hand, McTavish headed out of the lounge and down a flight of stairs, arriving at the front door of the estate. He pushed open the door and stepped out into the front yard, making his way down the drive way and through the open main gate. He passed a few patrolling guards as he went, starting down the winding road that lead from the estate and went to the mercenary compound located outside of the district.

The mercenary on the radio had been right about Keller being in the compound. McTavish arrived in the depot area of the compound, catching sight of the American Colonel as he jumped off of the back of a large grey MNU cargo truck. He was followed by Captain Venter who emerged from the truck's rear section, stepping down off of the truck with a disgruntled expression on his face. Such a look wasn't uncommon for Venter who seemed to have the habit of making a facial expression that could lead to others thinking he was constipated.

McTavish approached Keller, noticing that once again the American Colonel had a cigar sticking from one corner of his mouth. Keller's gaze went to McTavish as he approached and he managed a friendly smile in his direction.

"Colonel McTavish, I didn't expect to find you out here," Keller said. He seemed awfully calm for someone who had just escaped from the zone of a firefight.

"What the hell are you trying to do, Keller?" McTavish demanded, unable to keep the anger from creeping into his voice, "I didn't think you'd cause so much fucking trouble by going into the district…"

"It was for a good purpose," Keller replied, unfazed by McTavish's annoyance.

McTavish frowned, peering at the truck as he tried to get a gaze into the rear section. Keller stepped in front of him, obscuring his view.

"What's in the back of the truck?" McTavish asked.

"None of your business," Keller replied, smiling.

"It's from the district so it is my business," McTavish said. He didn't like the way Keller was treating him, acting as if McTavish was underneath him. "In case you've forgotten, Colonel Keller, but I'm the one who's in charge of District 10."

"What's with the gun?" Keller asked, nodding towards the shotgun gripped in McTavish's right hand.

"I was thinking of heading into the district myself, just to see what was going on," McTavish replied, narrowing his gaze, "seeing as you've managed to stir up trouble. I doubt that this would have happened if you hadn't showed up…"

"Yeah, well, shit happens…doesn't it?" Keller asked in a rather nonchalant manner. McTavish just rolled his eyes, thinking that he was probably wasting his time here.

"Don't you go anywhere," McTavish said, pointing a finger at the Colonel, "I'll be back once I'm done with this shit-storm you started in the district. And I'm going to find out whatever it is you're hiding in that fucking truck, you got that?"

Keller was still smiling, even as he nodded.

"Yeah, sure Mac," Keller said, "I got it. You go have fun in the District while I wait here and have a friendly discussion with Captain Venter." He nodded to the Captain who was standing nearby. "I like that plan, don't you Mac?"

"I'll be back, Keller," McTavish said as he turned to leave.

* * *

For the last ten minutes Lukas Farber had been doing nothing but running. His leg muscles ached and his lungs burned from all the effort. The right side of his face tingled strangely while his right eye, the one that was no longer human in appearance, stung slightly. Ahead of him were the others he seemed to have fallen in with, the prawns and the one human who were in the same sort of situation as him: on the run from far superior and heavily armed MNU forces.

The prawnling that seemed so fascinated with him seemed to be having no trouble keeping up with Lukas, even on its shorter legs that took smaller steps than the engineer.

There was Wikus, the rather angry prawn who had somehow managed to talk Lukas into tagging along. Then there was Iris, the quiet female one that was yet to say much at all. Lawrence was the young prawn in the grey trousers, currently wielding a Vektor CR21 he had recovered from a dead mercenary. Vincent was the somewhat quiet and mild-mannered prawn in the black leather jacket and dark trousers, having been the one who had rescued Lukas, Wikus, Iris and Lawrence from the APC. Linda was the human woman who was sticking by Vincent, as if the pair were good friends. Lastly there was Carl, the cranky and facially scarred old prawn who didn't seem to like Lukas very much.

The group were racing through the alleys that winded between tents and shacks. Vincent seemed to have a bit of a limp on him, evident by the slowed pace at which he was running and the fact that part of his left leg was wrapped in dirty bandages. Behind the group MNU mercenaries maintained pursuit, with APCs and Jeeps speeding through the streets while armed men chased them down the alleyways. It occurred to Lukas that it wouldn't take much effort on MNU's part for them to surround the group and eliminate them (or arrest them) appropriately. The MNU forces were probably in the process of doing just that.

Lukas was already tired of running but he didn't stop. Chances are if he stopped the others would just get angry and leave him behind or the mercenaries pursuing them would catch up to him. Lukas might have been reasonably fit but he certainly wasn't capable of running a few kilometres non-stop, dodging bullets and jumping over the assorted junk that created obstacles in the group's path.

It seemed that Lukas' day was getting worse as it went on. First he had been exposed to some alien fluid which had now proceeded to alter half of his face, letting his skin there come off at the slightest touch while his right eye had become very much like the type of eye a prawn had. Now he was getting chased by disgruntled mercenaries backed up by a force of armoured vehicles. He wondered if things could get any worse from here on in.

They probably could, he figured. He thought that he should stop thinking how things could get any worse since that would probably make it happen. Rather, he concentrated on running, following the group as they arrived at the end of the alley. Ahead was another wide street but the prawns that were normally outside had been ordered indoors by the mercenaries that were on patrol, waiting for the fleeing group of fugitives to arrive.

Wikus was the first to stop, turning to face the rest of the group as they stopped after him. If the prawns were puffed out they didn't show it, although both Lukas and Linda had to catch their breaths, even as the sounds of armoured vehicles became audible. They didn't have much time before the vehicles pulled up nearby so Wikus delivered what he wanted to say immediately.

"We have to split up," he said, "We can't just keep running like this in the one group. These MNU fuckers will have no trouble boxing us in otherwise…"

He paused, waiting to see if there were any complaints. There were none so he continued.

"Lukas, Vincent, Linda…you can come with me," Wikus said, "We'll head east." He nodded to the left.

"But Wikus—" Iris began but was interrupted.

"Don't argue," Wikus said sternly, "Chances are most of them will come after me and Lukas. If you don't come with us Iris, there's a better chance you'll survive…"

Lukas could tell that Iris had an obvious liking for Wikus. This much was evident in the way she was looking at him and the way she seemed to dislike the idea of not going with him when the group split up. Wikus, on the other hand, didn't seem to think much of this liking she had for him.

"Everybody else head west," Wikus said, "We'll meet up on the hill near the north gate. That means we have to lose these fuckers first, otherwise they'll just chase us out into the countryside."

Before anyone had a chance to say anything in regards to this plan a pair of MNU mercenaries came from around the corner behind the group. Both halted and raised their rifles, preparing to fire. Lukas grabbed the prawnling and sprinted for cover while Michael and Carl swivelled around where they stood, Michael using his R4 rifle to mow cut down one of the mercenaries. Carl blasted the other with his Popleekwan-built arc cannon, the mercenary exploding into a bloody mess.

This was enough of a signal to get the group running again. Lawrence, Carl, Michael and Iris raced out onto the street and headed right, disappearing from view as they went. Lukas followed after Wikus, Vincent and Linda while he clutched the prawnling close to his chest. He was beginning to feel a little guilty about forcing the young creature through all of this but there was no other option. Besides, he was developing a liking for the young prawn, even if it smelt bad and was annoying at times.

Lukas, Wikus, Vincent and Linda raced out onto the street and headed left, sticking close to the line of tents and shacks on the side of the dirt road as they ran. There were a few mercenaries scattered across the street and all started firing their weapons at them, bullets pounding into the ground near the fleeing group while some punctured holes into the tents behind them. Lukas kept the prawnling held close as he kept running, ignoring the pain that was in his legs and the aches that wracked at his lungs. He could have done with a good drink of water right about now but something told him he wouldn't be getting one for a while.

* * *

McTavish sat in the passenger seat of an MNU Jeep, Remington shotgun on his lap. Next to him the driver, a young black haired mercenary, was doing his best to speed through the narrow streets of the district without crashing into something or running anyone over. In the backseat another mercenary sat, this one with a laptop computer on his lap as he viewed the satellite feed of the firefight going on within the district.

"They're splitting up, sir," the mercenary said, turning his laptop around so McTavish could see. It was a thermal image providing a view of the district from high above. The camera was focused on the group of eight that was at the centre of the firefight: six prawns and two humans. Why there were humans involved he didn't care about too much, he assumed they were just prawn sympathisers. The group had split up into two groups of four, one heading one way and the other heading in the opposite direction.

"We'll go after this lot here," McTavish said, tapping the screen where four of the group's prawns had started running. He had a feeling that today would be a more exciting day than most.

* * *

Lawrence hung back at the rear of his group as they ran out onto the street, keeping close to the side of it as they went. He clutched the human built CR21 rifle tightly in his claws, the extra sense of security it brought making him feel a little more confident in the situation he found himself in. He had been shot at before during raids for the resistance but never had he been shot at here in District 10. The district had been his home for the last two years and it seemed strange that he was being chased and shot at within it.

Michael, Carl and Iris were a short distance ahead of him. Lawrence kept watch on the group's rear as they made their way down the road, rifle fire cracking from nearby as mercenaries opened fire in their direction. Lawrence felt a few bullets zip through the air near him, some of them even kicking up dirt near his clawed feet. His heart was racing uncontrollably while a feeling of overwhelming excitement flowed through him. Even though he was in a life threatening situation he couldn't help but find it exciting, thrilling even.

Lawrence wasn't too familiar with why that human, Lukas, had gotten involved. There was that slight oddity that one of the human's eyes had become decidedly "prawn". Lawrence assumed that the human was beginning to go through what Wikus had gone through a few years ago, although it was hard to determine for sure. And why it was happening to Lukas was unknown to the young prawn since he had only just met the human in the last half hour.

Lawrence spotted a mercenary coming out of an alley across the street. As he ran Lawrence brought up his CR21 rifle, pulling the trigger and feeling the rifle shake and bark loudly in his grip. The mercenary crumpled into a heap on the ground, blood spurting from a jagged fleshy hole in his throat.

Michael was leading the group and he took them into another alley, this one winding its way through a large set of shacks. A few other prawns were here and all were surprised to see the group of four charge in wielding weapons although none did anything about it. Instead they all just watched on passively as the group went on through the alleyway, exiting into a sort of large courtyard that was located in the middle of a large set of tents and shacks.

The courtyard had a water pump in the centre. The humans, when constructing the district, hadn't bothered teaching most of the prawns here on how to use the water pump so many of the less intelligent prawns had almost died of thirst, even if the pump was in their sight. Up ahead was a partially constructed stone wall, one that had been built to close off one side of the courtyard only for the humans building it to stop partway through the construction job. A few shelters had been set up for the prawns who hadn't been fortunate enough to get their own tent or shack, although there were currently no prawns within the courtyard. Most had been ordered indoors when the shooting had begun, even though there were still many outside elsewhere in the district.

"I think we lost them," Iris said, stopping to catch her breath. The others stopped in the courtyard as well, taking the chance to rest. Michael stepped over to the water pump and pulled the lever, sticking his head under the steady stream of water that poured out while opening his mouth to drink it.

It was a fairly hot day today, the sun beating down upon the district in a rather unrelenting manner. A Popleekwa's body wasn't quite able to cope with such intense heat and their exoskeletons had a habit of heating up until the prawn in question collapsed. Lawrence was on the verge of that now and so stepped over to the water pump where Michael was, pushing the other prawn aside as he leaned forward to take a drink. The water was cool and refreshing, spilling down his neck as he drank. He splashed some onto his face, cooling his exoskeleton there but only slightly.

Once he had had a fair drink he shut off the pump, stood back up and gazed around the courtyard. The area was strangely quiet, save for the distant sound of weapons fire as the MNU forces kept in pursuit of Wikus and the others. Wikus had been right about MNU being more interested in him and Lukas since most of the mercenaries had started after their half of the group and not the half containing Lawrence. It was hard to determine whether this was for the best or not.

"We should hide our weapons," Carl said, "If we're seen with them it'll only start trouble again. All we can do now is head to where Wikus said we were to regroup."

Lawrence looked down at his CR21 rifle. For some reason he didn't think he could part with it right now, there was still that nagging feeling in his mind that he would need it still. The day wasn't over and chances are they were wanted criminals in the eyes of MNU. He doubted MNU would simply give up chasing them so easily.

"I think we should lay low here first," Lawrence said, turning to face his grandfather, "That way we can be sure that we've lost our pursuers. For all we know, they could be watching us right now."

Carl gave the prawn equivalent of a frown.

"And what makes you so sure about this?" He asked.

Lawrence didn't know.

"It's just a feeling I have," he said.

This feeling was proven correct when an MNU Jeep crashed through the stone wall at the far end of the courtyard. The mercenary manning the mounted gun on the back swivelled it so that it was pointing towards the group of prawns, pulling the trigger once his aim was close. The Jeep pulled to a halt inside the courtyard, more mercenaries flowing in through the hole it had created in the wall.

Carl started running for cover, as did Iris. Michael ducked behind the water pump as bullets pounded into the ground near him. Lawrence was surprised but not shaken, starting to back away towards the shack behind him while he raised his rifle. The mercenary manning the Jeep's mounted gun was the greatest threat so Lawrence took aim at this human and squeezed off a couple of rounds, the rifle buckling in his grip as the bullets thundered from the barrel. The mercenary manning the mounted gun fell backwards, an explosion of blood erupting from his shoulder as he went down.

There were MNU hired soldiers flowing into the courtyard now and were moving their way gradually to the positions of the prawns. Lawrence knew he was exposed and started running to his left, deciding to head back into the alley. He was surprised to see a stern moustached human wearing a Hawaiian shirt step into view from the alley, a shotgun held in his hands.

It was McTavish, the human who ran District 10's mercenary force. Lawrence had seen a few pictures of him but had never actually seen the man face-to-face like this before. Flanking McTavish were two burly mercenaries, both of whom had their rifles trained on Lawrence. What McTavish was doing in the district was unknown but Lawrence assumed the human had just wanted to put a stop to the trouble himself.

Lawrence stopped, realizing he had nowhere to go. He brought up his CR21 rifle just as the two mercenaries with McTavish opened fire. Lawrence blasted both while McTavish dived and rolled, coming up firing his shotgun.

Lawrence went to adjust his aim to focus on McTavish but was too slow, the first of the human's shots hitting Lawrence in the stomach. Several shotgun pellets pounded their way through his exoskeleton, puncturing the organs underneath and sending a spray of warm black blood flying outwards. The force of the shot knocked Lawrence onto the ground, a stinging pain shooting through him as he went down. His rifle fell from his grip and landed just out of reach in the dirt nearby.

The young prawn felt a strange warm sensation at his stomach. The pain there was immense and he groaned loudly, rolling onto his side as he put a claw to his stomach in order to hold in the guts that threatened to spill out. He caught sight of McTavish turning his attention to where Carl and Iris had taken cover, preparing to fire. Carl was too quick for the human, turning around and blasting McTavish with his arc cannon. McTavish exploded into a bloody, gunky mess and immediately Carl stood up, racing to where his grandson lay in the dirt despite the fact there were still plenty of mercenaries shooting at him.

Lawrence felt strangely weak and so didn't protest when his grandfather grabbed him by one arm and helped him up. Carl looked distraught, pheromones of distress emanating from him as he started guiding Lawrence into cover behind a short stone wall. Iris was there, keeping in cover as bullets pounded into the masonry. Michael was still out by the water pump, mowing down any mercenaries that got too close.

Carl rested Lawrence against the back of the wall, taking a look at his grandson's injuries. The distress was clear in his one good eye, Carl's otherwise unshakable demeanour now broken.

Lawrence knew his chances of recovery were slim. They had no access to medical facilities nor medical supplies, hence even the slightest of wounds could become serious. One look at Lawrence's wounds showed that they were serious enough already.

The young prawn put a calming claw on his grandfather's forearm. There was no point in having Carl fret over him, he was a hopeless case. He looked towards Iris, able to see that she was just as distraught as Carl. Lawrence would regret dying before he had been able to get himself laid but he guessed that life wasn't always fair.

"You guys go on," Lawrence said. Blood collected in his mouth as he spoke and he spat it out to the side, its taste somewhat disgusting.

"You're my grandson," Carl said sternly, trying to collect himself, "I'm not leaving you."

Michael came running over, bullets kicking up the dirt near his clawed feet as he ran. More rounds began to pound into the stone wall as the mercenaries began to concentrate their fire in the group's direction.

Michael saw Lawrence's injuries and immediately went solemn. Carl still gripped Lawrence at one arm, as if he thought that someone would try and pull him away from his wounded grandson.

"I'll distract them," Lawrence said. He was thinking he may as well go down fighting, rather than dying in a corner somewhere. He had always thought he would go down guns blazing, especially since he had joined the resistance. "You three can escape…"

"I'm not leaving you," Carl barked, anger building up in him.

"I don't want you to stay!" Lawrence exclaimed. He coughed up blood, spitting it off to the side.

"We have to go," Michael said, "They're going to be all over us any moment…"

Lawrence managed one last look at his grandfather. He was serious in what he was saying, even if Carl refused to accept it.

"Go," Lawrence said simply. He didn't have the strength to say much else and talking was beginning to get difficult, especially since there was so much of his own blood that was building up in his mouth.

Carl didn't say anything. Instead he thrust his arc cannon into Lawrence's grip and stood up.

"Farewell, grandfather," Lawrence said, taking the Popleekwan weapon and clutching it tightly. Carl remained silent, only nodding at his grandson. Was that a tear Lawrence saw coming out of his grandfather's one good eye? It was hard to tell in all the sunlight.

Michael directed Carl and Iris back into the alley, leaving Lawrence alone behind the wall. Michael managed one last look at Lawrence and the younger prawn simply nodded. This was what he wanted and nothing anybody said or did could change that.

Michael left and Lawrence was left alone in the courtyard with only a whole lot of MNU mercenaries for company. Swallowing his fears he stood up and stepped out from behind the wall, raising the arc cannon as he did so. He wobbled unsteadily on his feet, finding it difficult to keep his balance in his wounded state. Still, he managed and proceeded to open fire on the advancing mercenaries.

There were a fair few of them and they had been advancing down the courtyard, expecting to find that the prawns they were after were easy to beat. Lawrence was determined to prove them wrong and without so much as another thought he fired the arc cannon, blowing away one of the mercenaries. The others immediately scattered, rifles firing. Lawrence ignored the rounds that passed close by him and instead began shooting the arc cannon again and again, blowing away several of the mercenaries as he went.

There was one to his left who fired off a shot, this particular bullet blowing a sizeable portion from Lawrence's left shoulder. Clicking angrily from the pain Lawrence swivelled his aim onto the mercenary and fired, blowing the mercenary all over the front of a nearby tent. There seemed to be more of these mercenaries flowing into the courtyard, rifles barking as they ran.

Lawrence started stepping forwards, catching sight of one crouched behind the water pump. The mercenary's leg was exposed and so Lawrence took careful aim and fired, the mercenary's leg exploding into a bloody red mess. The rest of the mercenary crumpled into a heap on the ground, bleeding everywhere from the mangled stump that had once been his leg.

Lawrence heard movement behind him and he turned around, catching sight of a pair of mercenaries as they charged out of a nearby tent. The young prawn blasted both, getting showered with pieces of them as the arc cannon blasts slammed into the mercenaries. Lawrence turned back around and caught sight of three mercenaries racing across the courtyard, heading for cover behind a stack of old wooden crates. Lawrence blew away two of them, the last one stopping and diving to the ground. He brought up his rifle and opened fire, one of the rounds stinging into Lawrence's left leg.

The young prawn fell to his knees, grunting with the pain. Regardless he kept his attention focused on the mercenaries up ahead as they further encroached on his position. Rifles fired and bullets kicked up dirt near him but still Lawrence kept shooting, blasting more of the mercenaries away.

A rifle fired from his left sent bullet into his side, agony erupting from the affected area. Lawrence fell onto his other side, writhing about in pain. Slowly getting back up onto his knees he turned to where the shot had come from, seeing another mercenary charging from a nearby tent. He blasted this human away, blood and guts splattering the front of the tent.

One of the mercenaries up ahead opened fire and another bullet pounded into Lawrence, this time hitting him in the chest. Lawrence groaned in both pain and anger, blowing this mercenary away with a well placed shot from his arc cannon. There were still many more but Lawrence didn't think he would be able to take much more punishment, especially since he seemed to be bleeding a hell of a lot. He could barely breathe let alone gather the strength to stand up. Whenever he did breathe the air seemed to exit from the hole in his chest, leaving him short of breath.

There were two mercenaries emerging from a tent to his right and Lawrence blew both away, clicking happily as he watched both mercenaries explode into bloody, liquefied messes. A rifle fired from somewhere up ahead sent a round into his neck, blowing a jagged hole through his exoskeleton there. Black blood exploded outwards and finally Lawrence keeled over.

Gargling, Lawrence fell backwards. As the life faded from him he was stared up at the sky, his golden-yellow eyes taking in the beauty of the blue Earth sky for one last time.


	29. The Old Garage

**The Old Garage  
**Somewhere outside of District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1750 Hours

At about three o'clock PM (1500 Hours) the two halves of the fleeing group met on a hill outside of District 10. From there they made their way over the countryside to an old, run-down mechanic's garage that hadn't seen use for some time. They arrived here at about quarter past four (1615 Hours) and waited for the trouble that had been caused in the district to die down.

Lukas Farber had been feeling rather ill for most of the walk to the garage. He had sat himself down inside the smelly, dusty interior of the garage on an old fold-up chair. While Vincent and Linda sat nearby talking quietly, Lukas sat examining his hands and his face in the reflection of a metal panel nearby. Wikus sat at the other end of the room, silent and deep in his own thoughts. Carl sat by himself over in a corner, somewhat withdrawn. Iris was sitting near Wikus, even if the male wasn't paying her much attention. Michael was sitting across from Lukas, working his way through a can of cat food as he chewed rather happily on its contents.

It hadn't taken much to escape District 10 as the resistance had already made a few holes in the fences and a few escape tunnels. Losing the pursuing MNU forces hadn't been easy but the group had managed it and now they were forced to hang around in this old garage, none of them with any real ideas as to what to do next. Outside the sun was beginning to get low in the sky, the first signs of dusk approaching. And somewhere in the mercenary compound outside of District 10, Colonel Keller awaited his orders to do with the alien medical pod.

Lukas had proceeded to do whatever it was required when it came to his changing physiology. He had been sitting in the one spot for about an hour now and had found early on that his fingernails were somewhat loose, thus he had gone on to pull them all out. It didn't hurt as much as he had thought it would but there was a considerable amount of pus seeping out of where the fingernails had once been. He had plucked them out one by one with little thought, Linda watching him with a rather disgusted look on her face.

About half an hour ago the right side of Lukas' face had torn away in a rather agonizing exposure of the hardened prawn exoskeleton that had been developing underneath. The bones in his skull had shifted painfully as it had happened and the flesh at his right cheek and around his right eye had simply ruptured, flaying outwards as a black and hard exoskeleton punctured through. Lukas had howled in both agony and frustration, finding that he had to pull away the jagged human flesh that had been forced out of place. Blood had seeped freely from the wounds on his face and most of it was in fact black blood, indicating a further internal change.

Looking at his reflection now he could see that nearly all of the right side of his face had gone, replaced by a black alien exoskeleton. It had started developing down the side of his neck as well and he had taken a look at his right shoulder, noticing that some hardened black splotches had were developing there. There was no doubt in his mind that he was turning into something else, most definitely a prawn.

From the inside of his mouth fell a few teeth and he spat them off to the side somewhat carelessly. Putting two of his fingers into his mouth he could feel something hard forming to the right side, as if the inside of his mouth was changing as well. No wonder his teeth were falling out, since he could feel other much smaller but sharper teeth forming in place. They were alien teeth no doubt and the terror he felt only increased tenfold.

Why him? He couldn't come up with any good reason as to why this had to happen to him. He was thinking that it was bad luck, especially since he had now been drawn into some sort of insurgent group. What would his wife, Katherine, think of him now? Half of his face had more or less "gone prawn" and more was starting to do the same. He could barely move his jaw since the bones there ached and the altered parts of his face felt alien, thus he had less control over them than he would have liked.

What would his daughter think? His daughter, Lyssa, would be repulsed by his new appearance. She was only five years old for Christ's sake…She wouldn't be able to understand what was happening to him. She was probably expecting her father to show up at home after a long day at work right about now, but unfortunately Lukas wouldn't be coming home anytime soon. He was in a lot of trouble, this much was obvious.

In his throat Lukas could feel a slight ache, as if the changes he was going through had started occurring within his neck. On closer inspection of his face he could see the small black veins that spread out from his altered parts, spreading across his body like they were some sort of virus. Maybe it was a virus he had in him, multiplying exponentially and changing his appearance as it went. The physical changes weren't restricted to his upper body as he found out: a quick look at his right hand revealed that similar black splotches had started forming at his fingers, as well as along his right arm. How long he had left in his human form was impossible to determine exactly but he did make a guess at perhaps four days, maybe five.

If he wasn't around others he probably would have cried. He certainly felt like doing so but swallowed his emotions, especially since most of the others were looking at him, as if he was some sort of sideshow freak. Well, he was wasn't he? The half-man half-prawn who was continuously changing until one day he wouldn't be half-man anymore…he would be completely prawn. He clenched a fist when this thought struck him, a brief wave of anger flowing through him. He calmed down almost immediately though, realizing that proceeding to do an angered outburst wouldn't help him or anyone else. There was the hope that maybe there was a way to reverse the changes, as Wikus had alluded to earlier in the day…But something told Lukas that such hopes were unfounded. There was no way to stop the changes: for as advanced as medicine was these days, there was no way they could actually stop his genetic make-up from changing.

He needed to see Katherine. He wanted to show her that he was okay, that he was still alive and that nothing had happened to him. If MNU was after him they would want to cover up their tracks, this much was obvious: they would report that he had been killed or close to it. They would cook up some false story in order to protect the interest they had in him. If Wikus had been right then MNU would want to capture him and dissect him for whatever secrets his changing body contained. He had always thought that MNU had since given up on their experiments but there was a chance that he was wrong and that they had simply arranged this whole mission for something to happen…like Lukas' unfortunate exposure to the black fluid that had been seeping out of the medical pod.

It was somewhat hard to digest, that the people he had been working for all these years would suddenly just sell him out like this. Then again, MNU had never been big on the interests of its employees. For as important Lukas was to their operations they could probably make-do without him and would find someone just as good to take his place. In a matter of hours Lukas' world had come crashing down all around him. He was wanted for whatever genetic secrets his changing body contained and he was stuck with a bunch of prawns for company, save for the one human woman, Linda. Something told him that Linda and Vincent had a thing going between them, so she may as well have been a prawn as well.

His uncertainties about Colonel Keller and this whole "specialist team" business hadn't been unfounded. In fact, he had probably been the only member of the team who had expected something bad to happen. Hence, knowing his luck, he had been the one to get exposed to the alien fluid and no one else. And now his life had effectively fallen apart and he was forced to hide out in some dingy old mechanic's garage near a desert highway with only a bunch of prawns for company.

He found his mobile phone in a pocket in his trousers. It was switched off and so Lukas pressed the button to switch it on, intent on calling Katherine and telling her what was going on. She deserved to know as did their daughter.

He wasn't quite prepared for when Wikus stepped towards him and snatched the phone out of his hands, crushing it in one claw. He threw the destroyed phone on the floor, his golden-yellow eyes regarding Lukas with some anger.

"You fucking moron!" He exclaimed, clicking angrily, "They can trace the call…And they can trace the fucking phone if it's so much as switched on!"

Lukas sighed. He buried his head in his hands and rubbed both eyes, finding that he was feeling awfully tired. He traced his fingers over the hardened exoskeleton that had developed on the right side of his face, feeling along the grooves and plates that it consisted of.

"Fuck you," Lukas said simply, looking up at Wikus.

"I don't need you to bring the whole of MNU down on our fucking asses just because you want to call someone," Wikus said.

"I was going to call my wife…"

There was a pause as Wikus contemplated this, as if the words had struck a chord someone in him. Lukas tried to raise an eyebrow but the right half of his face failed to respond. Nearby, the prawnling that had become his companion was fast asleep, curled up on a mat on the floor in much the same manner a cat would.

"You're going to have to forget about your wife," Wikus said slowly, as if there was something weighing on his mind, "You may as well be dead to her…"

"Why?" Lukas couldn't quite work out what put this prawn in a position to tell him what to do. And what would Wikus know anyway? He was just another prawn, another stupid alien that had had the misfortune of being dragged into this mess. Then again, Wikus seemed to be one of the prawns that had actually started the trouble in the first place. He had been in the shack with that mysterious alien pod and he had been the one to tell Lukas that he could help him…somehow. Lukas wanted to know how and he wanted to know now.

"You said you could help me," Lukas said, his voice coming off as somewhat raspy and strained. He cleared his throat but this didn't seem to help.

"The pod is what can help," Wikus replied, his clicks taking on their usual aggressive tone again, "But I can't fucking help anyone if MNU has it. That's why we have to find it and if we can't take it back, we destroy it. It's too dangerous for MNU to keep it…"

Lukas felt his heart skip a beat when he heard this. If the pod was the only thing that could help him, why would they need to destroy it?

"Destroy it?" Lukas couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "Why?"

"Because with what's inside it they can start doing to more people what's happened to you," Wikus said, "And with that they'll be able to create the fucking super soldiers they've always wanted: hybrids that can wield prawn weapons. You're an engineer: you should fucking know this."

Lukas shook his head.

"I'm afraid I didn't…" Lukas felt resigned now. He didn't want anymore to do with this. If they were going to destroy his only hope of stopping the changes happening to his body than he might as well give up now.

"Well, now you know," Wikus said, "Hence why we have to destroy the fucking pod before MNU moves it to somewhere more secure."

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Vincent asked from nearby. Wikus turned around and looked at him, considering the question for a moment as he played the possibilities through his head. Lukas could tell that Wikus had next to no clue as to how they would go about and destroy it, further diminishing what little faith he had in this group. They were all fugitives but that didn't make them soldiers.

"We go in and we shoot the fucking place up!" Wikus exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he said this, "Just like we did today. We walk in, kill some of those dumb-fuck mercenaries and find the pod and blow it up. Then we escape…"

"Sounds like a real good plan," Lukas said sarcastically. Wikus turned around and shot him a rather annoyed glance. For a moment Lukas thought that Wikus might try and strangle him but the anger seemed to fade from the prawn's gaze.

"And do you have any better ideas?" Wikus asked. He was angry, at what Lukas couldn't be certain. It was next to impossible to tell what a prawn was thinking just from the way they looked.

"Wikus, calm down." This was Iris and she had stood up, finally deciding to intervene. She stepped over to Wikus and put a calming hand on his shoulder but this did little to sway him.

"Fucking let me go!" Wikus snapped, wriggling out of her grip. Iris stepped back, slight perturbed but still rigid in her stance. "I don't need you to fucking counsel me!"

"I don't want you causing unnecessary harm…"

"Fuck you!" Wikus shouted. He pushed Iris and knocked her aside but she kept standing, stepping clear of the angry prawn.

Wikus swivelled around where he stood and before Lukas had a chance to react the prawn had gripped him at the throat, lifting him up out of his seat before pinning him against the wall behind him. Lukas felt the prawn's grip tighten around his neck, his ability to breathe suddenly very limited.

"There's something I want you to understand, Lukas," Wikus said, sounding somewhat crazed as he said it, "I'm effectively in charge of this group, you fucking got that? I don't need some fuck-wit like you to tell me how to do things, alright?"

"You're…nuts…" Lukas managed to say between gasps for air. Wikus threw Lukas to the floor, allowing the engineer to regain his breath. The prawnling nearby awoke from sleep suddenly, unsure of just what was going on.

"You're crazy, Wikus," Lukas said from where he lay, slowly rising onto his knees as he spoke. Wikus stood over him, a wild look in his eyes as he regarded the fallen engineer. "You have a serious problem. Why anyone would want to listen to you is beyond me…"

"Wikus, just sit down," Carl said from his corner. He gave the other prawn a rather cruel gaze. Wikus seemed only slightly perturbed by it but otherwise he walked off, sitting himself down at the counter nearby.

Lukas, having regained his breath, sat back down in his seat. Whatever that was about was beyond him but he could tell that the prawn known as Wikus was a troubled soul.

Iris, the female, was still standing near Lukas and looked at the engineer with an understanding gaze. Lukas looked up at her, thinking that if the female was trying to "get with" Wikus then she was wasting her time. The male prawn was absolutely volatile.

"Why do you waste your time with that prick?" Lukas asked, noticing that Wikus had his head on the counter, as if trying to get to sleep.

Iris seemed to shrug, although it was hard to tell with a prawn.

"He's troubled," Iris said simply.

"No shit," Lukas replied. Troubled? _Really?_ Obviously Iris was either stupid or wasn't easily fazed, even by what was evidently a very violent and aggressive prawn.

"I think he's jealous of you," Iris said.

"What?" Lukas couldn't work this out. Jealous? Why would a prawn be jealous of him, especially in his state? Half of his face was no longer human in appearance and yet a prawn was _jealous_ of him?

"You still have a chance to be saved," Iris continued, "His chance is all but gone."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand…"

Iris paused for a moment, seeming surprised to hear this from the engineer. Obviously she had been expecting Lukas to know.

"I thought you might have known," Iris said, "but you obviously don't. I suppose I should tell you…"

"Yeah, you should," Lukas said, curiosity aroused. Whatever was eating Wikus was something he certainly wanted to find out.

"He was human once," Iris said.

Lukas swallowed. What? Wikus had been a _human?_ Lukas looked at Wikus, realizing something: was he destined to end up the same way, completely and utterly alien in appearance but stuck with his human memories and personality? It sounded like the sort of thing that could send any ordinary man insane. Maybe that might explain why Wikus was so moody.

"He was human?" Lukas asked, shaking his head incredulously.

"He's spent nearly the last three years searching for a means of reversing what happened to him," Iris continued, "But there is no way to reverse it. The medical pod might have been able to but it's ceased functioning after all of these years. You, Lukas, still have a chance since the transformation has only just started. I think that Wikus is jealous of this chance that you have since it reminds him that he missed out on his years ago."

Lukas could only nod when he heard this. It made sense but then that meant if Wikus could end up a full prawn then the same could happen to him. Lukas didn't want to end up a prawn, even if that was what was happening to him now. He needed to find a way to stop the process, that way he could get back to his ordinary life. Something told him he wouldn't be able to find the means to halt the transformation though. It seemed like such a long-shot, trying to stop what was obviously a near-impossible to reverse process.

"I can tell you like him," Lukas said, deciding to change the topic.

Iris shifted where she stood and seemed to look down shyly, as if contemplating the thought.

"I can't help but feel sorry for him," she said, "after all he's been through…"

"And he's…what? In charge of the resistance you guys have going?"

"Sort of," Iris replied, "He's the main organizer. He's what brought the resistance together into an effective and organized group in the first place."

Lukas guessed that this made sense. It took a human (or perhaps an 'ex-human') to organize an alien resistance. The thought occurred to him that these prawns lacked their own kinds of leaders.

"What happened to the boss prawns?" Lukas asked, "Don't you guys have appointed leaders? And, you say you're a female? I thought prawns were asexual…"

"The workers are," Iris said, "But the leader caste are not. Females are required for the leaders to pass their genes onto a new generation, as reproduction with two different genders is more reliable than asexual reproduction. That's why females are perhaps one to every fifty thousand males: My kind are a rarity. We're reserved for the leader caste."

"And the boss prawns?" Lukas asked.

There was a pause as Iris contemplated the notion.

"That's something else entirely, Lukas," Iris said suddenly, "Something that I doubt the others have noticed yet."

"What's that?"

"Speculation has it that one of our leaders, perhaps the very one who was in command of the ship when it came to Earth, was inside that medical pod. According to Carl, the leader or 'commander' had come down with a life-threatening bacterial infection. The pod could keep him alive for a prolonged period of time but MNU removed it from the ship, severing its connection to the ship's power supply."

Lukas frowned.

"So? What's this got to do with me?"

"The remains of the commander are still inside the pod. You were undoubtedly exposed to those remains…"

"Which means what?" Lukas already knew the answer and he didn't like it one bit. It chilled him to think that he, of all people, could have this happen to him.

Carl was the one to reply, speaking from his private corner and breaking his otherwise complete silence. He had lost his grandson today as they had been in the process of escaping District 10 and ever since Carl had become far more withdrawn. Where he might have usually been rather vocal in any dislikes he had for the others, now he was just quiet. Lawrence had been more like a son to him than a grandson, having had to raise the young prawn for many years.

"It means he's turning into one of our commanders," Carl said bluntly.

"Bullshit," Lukas said, even though he knew that deep down it made sense. Of all the things that could have happened to him and he was turning into a prawn…and not just any ordinary prawn at that. He was turning into some sort of _boss_ prawn or something, whatever one wanted to call it.

"Once the transformation's complete he'll have power over every prawn on this planet," Carl continued. Wikus had sat up now, listening carefully as the old prawn continued. "Frankly, I'd prefer it if it wasn't happening but I'm not about to condemn him for something that isn't under his control."

Lukas stood up, shaking his head again. This was just too much for him to handle. Not only that, but he was beginning to feel sick again. Either it was the transformation that was happening to him or the realization of what was being implied. Him as a prawn commander with power over every other prawn on planet Earth? What a load of bullshit. This hadn't been the sort of thing he had been expecting to happen to him.

"I'm thinking that with a commander, we may be able to unite our people," Carl went on, sounding increasingly patriotic as he continued, "we might be able to put up an effective resistance with someone in charge, even if that someone is a prick of a human…"

"This is fucking bullshit," Lukas said simply. He was turning into a prawn and it just so happened he wasn't actually turning into an _ordinary_ one. How much worse could his situation get?

"Maybe fate ensured that it would happen," Carl said, watching Lukas carefully through his one good eye, "Maybe he's part of a much grander scheme…"

"I've had enough of this," Lukas said. He picked up the prawnling and once again held her close to him, regarding Carl, Wikus and the others through a narrowed and irritated gaze.

"What are you doing?" Iris asked.

"Leaving," Lukas said. He was serious about it too, even if it meant he would be by himself out in the desert. How far was it to Johannesburg? Two hundred miles, give or take a few? Walking two hundred miles was certainly better than sticking with these revolutionary prawns, that was for sure.

"You can't be fucking serious," Wikus said, standing up.

"I'm fucking serious," Lukas snapped back.

"MNU will find you," Michael said, having finished eating from the can of cat food he held in his right claw. He tossed the empty can aside carelessly.

"Fuck MNU," Lukas replied, "and fuck you too. Fuck all of you. This shit's just become way too much for me to handle."

"And where are you going to go?" Linda asked. She had stood up, looking at Lukas carefully. She seemed to be trying to be the voice of reason in the argument but Lukas would have none of it.

"I'm going to go home," Lukas said simply. The prawnling he held in his left arm chirped happily. "And I'm taking my new friend with me."

"Home?!" Wikus exclaimed suddenly and angrily, unable to quite believe what he was hearing. "Are you fucking nuts? That's over two hundred miles away! You'll either die of thirst or get found by MNU…Neither of those options are any good. If you have any sanity you'll stay here."

"I'd prefer to take my chances than hang out with you," Lukas replied, "Besides, what am I going to do with you guys? Sit around and watch as bits of me fall of and get replaced with prawn bits? No thanks. I'm going, regardless of what any of you say."  
"But the medical pod—"

"Fuck the medical pod," Lukas said, "and fuck you, Wikus. You're nothing but trouble. If it wasn't for you I wouldn't be in this mess."

Wikus pointed an accusing claw at Lukas, the rage evident on his alien features. If Lukas wasn't mistaken it seemed that Wikus was about to explode.

"It's your own fault for getting exposed," Wikus said, "Not mine or anybody else's. And the medical pod is your only chance—"

"No, it's not. It's not even a 'chance'. It doesn't work, and you know it. It's just full of that black ooze that caused this shit to start up in the first place."

"But MNU have it," Michael interjected, "If we allow them to exploit it…"

"So what," Lukas said. He didn't care what MNU did with the alien fluid, just as long as it had nothing to do with him. Sure, he doubted his chances when going outside and starting on a two hundred mile walk back to Johannesburg but he was quite willing to take his chances. Besides, there would be villages around here and he would be able to get supplies and other essentials.

"If you leave, you're not coming back," Wikus said, "If you come crawling back we won't accept you, regardless of what you're turning into. You leave out that door and you're fucked both ways. If you stay, you have a chance…"  
Lukas looked towards the door and then to Wikus. He made his decision and was quite grateful when he turned his back on the annoying prawn.

"Even if you somehow get back to Johannesburg, how are you going to get around looking like the way you do?" Vincent asked, stepping after the engineer. He grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around, their eyes meeting.

"Let go of me…" Lukas wriggled out of the prawn's grip, not in the mood to hear whatever it was that Vincent wanted to say.

"You're fucked if you go out there," Vincent said, "MNU will find you. And when they get you they'll probably dissect you. You're best off staying with us…"

"No, I'm not best off staying with you," Lukas said bluntly. He was getting sick of all of the bullshit these prawns and that Linda woman were trying to feed him. He was turning into some sort of boss prawn…so what? He just wanted to go home to his wife and daughter, perhaps have a drink, get some sleep…and that meant leaving these revolutionaries behind.

"Let him go, Vincent," Carl said.

With some reluctance Vincent took a step back, watching Lukas carefully.

"Good luck out there," Vincent said. He sounded sincere about it and all Lukas could do was nod in acknowledgement, thankful that at least someone cared about him.

"Fuck off, Lukas," Wikus said from nearby.

And Lukas did just that. He stepped outside into the cool dusk air, taking a look down both ways of the highway. Nearby was a sign, beaten with age but the words on it were still readable: KLERKSDORN—135KM, CARLETONVILLE—200KM, JOHANNESBURG—320KM. Behind him the door to the old mechanic's garage slammed shut.

And he was met with silence. There were no birds tweeting, no animals calling. On the horizon the sun was beginning to set, the sky going a deep purple-blue colour as the sun descended. Faced with their desolation Lukas started walking, holding the prawnling tight as he went. He didn't need to stay with those revolutionaries, they weren't any help to him at all. All he needed to do was reach Johannesburg and get to his house, tell his wife what was happening and hopefully avoid the grasp of MNU. Besides, if MNU had the medical pod and the alien fluid inside why would they need him? They had probably already lost interest in him.

He started walking to the sign, deciding that he would just follow this road. It would take him to Johannesburg and probably a few smaller towns along the way. Klerksdorn, where was that? He had no idea, he had never really needed to leave Johannesburg before. Until recently, his job had been one where he spent most of his time in an office. He should have known that leaving the relative safety of his office would lead to trouble.

And so Lukas walked, able to feel that odd tingling sensation across his face and down his neck, as well as on his right arm. He was changing, he knew that. Into what, he didn't want to think about. The prawnling he held with him was quiet, as if knowing that Lukas was in no mood to talk. It was right: he wasn't in a mood to talk.


	30. Dusk at District 10

**Dusk at District 10  
**District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
1830 Hours

The mercenary compound was populated with just that: mercenaries. All of them had been hired by MNU to help keep security at District 10 and most of them, in Colonel Keller's opinion, were of the typical moronic type. It was no surprise to him then that he found that some were doing things other than their assigned jobs, such as sitting outside and playing cards or listening to radios. It seemed that none of them did much work here, something that said a lot about Colonel McTavish's leadership skills.

Then again, Colonel McTavish had been an idiot and had gotten himself killed earlier today. Keller wasn't at all perturbed by the fact that this had happened, having figured that McTavish would have met his end in some undignified manner sooner or later. McTavish had been stupid to go out into the firefight just because he was bored and wanted something to do, hence the reason there was now nothing left of him except wet bits lying in a puddle on the ground. Now the mercenaries here had no actual commander and seemed to be taking the opportunity to slack off more than they usually did.

Wikus had escaped and so had Lukas. It seemed that Wikus, otherwise known as the "ex-human" had friends in District 10. This was to have been expected but the fact that Wikus had gotten away unharmed and unapprehended was the one thing Keller needed to do something about. Part of his orders had been to locate the alien medical pod, which he had done so, as well as apprehend Wikus and if possible provide another asset to his superiors, hence why they wanted Lukas. If Lukas was indeed changing he would be an invaluable asset to the experiments Keller's superiors wanted to undertake. Wikus, on the other hand, was undoubtedly responsible for organizing the prawn insurgents hence why he had to be apprehended and questioned as soon as possible. And then, once he was no longer useful he would be executed. It was standard stuff and yet it wasn't working out, a fact that Keller was only mildly annoyed about.

He stood out in the cool evening air, a fresh cigar jutting from the corner of his mouth. He blew on it gently, a cool evening breeze taking the smoke away. He stood to the side of a yard where a number of vehicles were parked, mostly APCs and Jeeps. There was the truck carrying the alien medical pod and this was the centre of his attention for now as he pondered what he should do.

Richard Houser, his boss for this operation, had called about half an hour ago. Upon learning that Wikus and Lukas had escaped Richard had sort of lost his temper, telling Keller that he better do something about these two otherwise he might find himself replaced. Keller had been unfazed, assuring Richard that Wikus and Lukas would be found soon enough. Richard had gone on to detail the next phase of the operation which involved moving the alien medical pod to a secure facility, one that was located on the South Africa-Zimbabwe border. Hence Richard Houser was sending a sizeable convoy to act as an escort to the truck carrying the medical pod and it would arrive here tomorrow morning. From here the truck would be escorted to a secure train station and then loaded onto a train in order for it to be taken to the secure facility, far outside of MNU jurisdiction. MNU would only interfere if they found out about the medical pod, hence why steps would be taken to ensure that no one in MNU found out about its true purpose. To the mercenaries it was just another piece of alien technology, one that seemed mostly useless at first glance. Of course, Keller knew better than this. It wasn't useless at all, especially with what was inside of it.

Keller wasn't afraid of losing his position if he screwed up. He had made sure to get himself "insurance", hence the sealed metal cylinder he carried in one pocket. Inside was a sample of the black fluid that had been seeping out of the medical pod and it would be enough to please any big corporation willing to cash in on its abilities. If Richard Houser wanted Keller gone the Colonel would simply sell this sample to a rival, probably MNU. When Richard Houser kicked someone off of an operation he usually arranged for them to "disappear" as well. Keller knew this, hence the need for insurance in the form of alien technology.

For now Keller and his team were to stay here and await morning since the convoy would arrive then. Keller wasn't feeling too tired and instead stood taking in the night-time atmosphere, puffing on his cigar as he did so. It had been an interesting day, having begun with that trip into District 9 followed by the escape of that prawn, Vincent Matheson, along with his human girlfriend. Now here Keller was, forced to wait around in some dodgy little compound near District 10. He would try and get some sleep soon, but until then he was enjoying his cigar.

Had it been Keller's intention for Lukas to get exposed to the black alien fluid? The Colonel thought carefully over this, unsure of whether he had intended for it to happen or not. It certainly made things easier for him since it had happened, he just hadn't been planning it. He had originally intended to get Sarah Taylor exposed primarily because he didn't like her and found her to be a bitch. She might have been good looking but her absolutely bitchy persona was near impossible to tolerate, thus any attractiveness she had was quickly quelled by this.

It was a bit of a surprise when she stepped from out of the mess hall building just behind Keller. _Speak of the Devil_, Keller thought as Sarah walked towards him. She looked pissed off as she most often did.

"Something on your mind?" Keller asked, turning to face her.

"The food here is shit," Sarah said bluntly, "You should see their soup…"

"I'm not interested in their soup," Keller said, "So, are you out here for anything in particular or do you just want to talk to me about their soup? Because, before you get really into that absolutely enthralling topic I'm telling you now, I'm not interested."

Sarah frowned.

"I have something I want to ask about," she said.

"Is it about their soup?"

"No…"

"Good," Keller replied, nodding, "So go ahead and ask it."

"It's about Lukas," she said, "You know, the engineer?"

Keller frowned but nodded anyway.

"Of course I know him," he said, "Why? What about him?"

"What happened to him?" She asked, "Why did you arrest him?"

Keller took a moment to answer. He didn't see any harm in telling her the truth, just as long as he didn't mention the alien medical pod. Keller took the cigar out of his mouth, letting it waft smoke from where he held it in between two of the fingers of his right hand.

"He got exposed to some sort of alien chemical," Keller said, delivering a simplified version of what had happened, "It was a safety precaution, arresting him. Whatever got into his system might have been contagious, you know?"

"And now he's escaped?"

"Yeah, I guess that's the way it goes," Keller said, "He was just in the right place at the right time to get found by those gun-wielding prawns. You were there, I would think you might have taken one of them down…"

"Didn't we?" Sarah asked, "We cornered one of them in a courtyard somewhere and killed it."

"So you did," Keller said, remembering this particular fact, "But Lukas wasn't there, nor was that prawn, Wikus. The group split up and we lost Lukas and Wikus somewhere in the north of the district. It's not hard to lose someone in that place, it's a mess of maze-like alleys and blocks of tents and shacks. That's why I reckon that our boy Lukas is out there somewhere, now in league with a bunch of insurgent prawns. Hence, he's officially a wanted fugitive. And you know what we do to fugitives, eh?"

Sarah nodded.

"We arrest them…" She said.

"Yes, we arrest them," Keller said, "That means, the next time we see Lukas, we arrest him. Along with any of his new prawn buddies."

The thought occurred to Keller that when they did see Lukas next the engineer might not be looking like his normal self. With that alien fluid in his system it would only be a matter of days before he was nothing but another prawn, clicking and chirping like some kind of bug. Keller wondered what it felt like, to turn into an entirely different biological organism but he guessed that he would never want to find out. He liked his human body too much. The thought occurred to him: what happened to one's private parts when they underwent the transformation into a prawn? Did they change as well or fall off or what?

Sarah was probably trying to work out what had happened to Lukas using the information the Colonel had given her. Keller wasn't at liberty to tell her just exactly what was happening to Lukas although Marinus, who had witnessed the first change in the engineer's physical form, might have a better idea. Hence why Keller had let him in on the operation in exchange for Marinus' full assistance. Captain Marinus Venter was more than happy to work for Colonel Keller on an operation that was no doubt more exciting than his work here at District 10.

"Do you know how many people were killed today, Sarah?" Keller asked. Sarah looked up, her train of thought broken.

"A fair few?"

"About thirty-seven," Keller replied, "All thanks to those alien weapons. Have you seen those things fire, Sarah?"

She nodded.

"Yes…"

"They're fucking barbaric," Keller said and this was true. Weapons that could flash-liquefy someone were far more barbaric than a standard bullet-hurling rifle. Why the prawns needed to bring that sort of hardware with them in the first place was beyond him.

"And what we're trying to do, Sarah, is make sure we get rid of the insurgents who wield such weapons," Keller continued, "And, once they're gone, there won't be anymore barbaric alien weapons available. What we're doing is a good thing, even if you might not agree…"

"I don't care much about that," Sarah said. Keller raised an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"I just enjoy killing prawns, you know?" Sarah asked. Keller frowned when he heard this but let he continue anyway, thinking that it was a valuable insight into what went on in her slightly unstable mind.

"I like to watch them die," she said, "The noises they make when you shoot them…They're fucking hilarious."

"Are they now?" Keller wasn't entirely sure what to think of this, although he had to agree: the prawns did seem to make some strange noises.

"Yes," Sarah replied, some sort of crazy look appearing in her eyes as she spoke, "The way they writhe around when you've shot them…I enjoy it, it's damn satisfying."

Keller just nodded along with everything the crazy woman said. Sure, the prawns may not be much to most humans but enjoying killing them? Keller could only frown at the suggestion. He only killed when necessary, not because he enjoyed to do it but because he _had_ to do it. It was all part of his job, killing things regardless of whether they were human or prawn. If he had to kill a prawn he would do it, but killing them just for the hell of it? It was a waste of ammunition at the very least and he could use aforementioned ammunition to gun down something that was actually a threat to him.

As he pondered these thoughts, Sarah sat down on a chair against the wall of the mess hall building. From inside, through the door Keller could hear talking and laughing as the mercenaries wasted their time inside, eating and drinking and otherwise slacking off. The mercenary force at District 10 was an absolute shambles, primarily because of McTavish's lack of leadership skills.

Marinus Venter emerged a few minutes later, his face in its usual level but stern look. Now, where Keller disliked Sarah Taylor, finding her to be an annoying bitch, Keller actually thought highly of Marinus Venter. The man was competent and always kept a level head, even when he was getting shot at as had been the case earlier today. Keller had a feeling that Marinus would have a successful military career ahead of him if he ever actually joined the proper military and not work for MNU as a mercenary. Chances are that Marinus would be taking McTavish's position but this would have to be after Keller's mission was complete since Marinus was now officially part of it. And Keller was confident that with Marinus at his side the mission to apprehend Wikus and Lukas would become somewhat easier.

"How's the food, Captain?" Keller asked, managing a friendly smile as he spoke.

"Shit," Marinus replied bluntly. He stopped nearby and reached into a pocket in his trousers, removing a carton of cigarettes and a lighter to go with it. He flipped open the lid of the carton and removed one of the cigarettes, sticking it into his mouth before putting the carton away. He lit the end of the cigarette and proceeded to puff away upon it, his gaze going out across the yard and the many vehicles parked within it.

"I didn't think you smoked, Captain," Keller said. This was true: Marinus didn't seem the type who smoked.

"Only one per day, same time every day," Marinus replied, "Last thing I want is cancer."

"Then why smoke at all?"

"Because I want to," Marinus said, "It helps me think."

"So, every day at the same time you have yourself one long thinking session?"

"Yes," Marinus said, frowning at all the questions, "And you're interrupting that session by asking me all of these questions."

Keller frowned.

"Oh, well, I'm sorry about that," Keller said mockingly. He couldn't help but find the Captain's habits a little odd.

Marinus didn't pay much attention to what Keller was saying. Instead, he continued to gaze out across the vehicle yard while he smoked, letting the cigarette last as long as it could before it was finally reduced to nothing but a smoking butt. He dropped the butt and grinded it into the ground with the heel of one booted foot, diminishing any sort of flaming embers that it might have still had.

"What are we going to do about the ones that escaped?" Marinus asked, "Wikus especially. I want to grind that prick into the dirt…"

Keller just chuckled when he heard this, noticing Marinus' face crumple into a serious and intimidating frown.

"I had no fucking idea that prawn was him," Marinus said, "If I had known I would have killed him already…"

"You had no way of knowing," Keller said, "Besides, my superiors want him alive. If you had killed him then that would have put a large crimp in their plans."

Marinus looked up.

"Just what are those plans, Colonel?" He asked, "You might have told me who you work for, but why do you need Wikus? What's he got to do with everything?"

"Don't worry about Wikus," Keller said, "When my superiors are finished with him I'll make sure they hand him over to you alive so you can do whatever you want to him."

Marinus seemed to like the prospect and he nodded. Nearby, Sarah sat twirling her combat knife around in her right hand as she often did.

"You have that sort of persuading power over your boss?" Marinus asked.

Keller nodded. He certainly did: he was their best man after all, so he should at least have the respect to be able to ask them for whatever he wanted (within reason of course).

"I can get them to do things for me," Keller said, "I am their best man after all."

With that, there was a short silence backgrounded by the sound of the talking and other assorted activities going on within the mess hall. Other than that the outside was quiet, the sound of the breeze whistling between the buildings of the compound the only noise that caught Keller's attention.

About half a kilometre down the road from the compound sat District 10, home of the majority of the prawn species that were on this planet. Keller hadn't expected much when he had gone into the district earlier that day and thus hadn't been surprised by the slum-like conditions that the district consisted of. It seemed that MNU had packed in the prawns tight within the blocks of tents and shanties, having given up on controlling the births that occurred within the district. Marinus had enacted an abortion of one of the shacks that was being used as a birthing chamber by the prawns but removing one would make little difference in the long run. Eventually there would be too many prawns in the district and MNU may have to extend it, or perhaps even build a similar compound elsewhere.

There was no doubt in Keller's mind that things would soon get out of hand. District 10 was only a temporary solution to the prawn problem. Eventually something more "permanent" would have to be done. Keller didn't have any ideas as to what this could entail but he doubted that MNU would try integrating them into society. That wouldn't be well met by the general human population.

Keller's "insurance" came to mind as he pondered all of this. The small amount of the black fluid he had collected himself and still carried in a sealed cylinder within his vest. If this mission got anymore awry (and it had by a fair bit) he would use it…for what, he couldn't be sure. But with this sort of asset he might be able to gain power, the sort of power he had always dreamed of. He could have his own private army of hybrid soldiers, all equipped with alien weapons. With that sort of firepower he would be able to get anything he wanted.

For now though he would stick with the mission. Lukas and Wikus were still at large, along with their prawn friends. Keller wanted to see this whole thing through, if only to receive his next pay-check from his boss. And maybe, when he was sure he could get away with it, he would make use of the alien fluid he had collected.

"I take it you and your brother were close?" Keller asked, deciding to break the silence. He looked towards Marinus, getting the Captain's attention with the question.

Marinus took a moment to reply.

"What do you mean?"

"You and your brother Koobus…The way you want Wikus dead makes me think that you and your brother were quite close."

Marinus chuckled. Keller simply raised an eyebrow at the reaction but didn't say anything.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Marinus said in between laughs, "My brother Koobus was a prick. I just want to get back at the prawn that killed him."

"So, it's more of an obligation you feel to avenge your brother's death than anything else?"

Marinus nodded.

"Yeah, that's pretty much the extent of it," Marinus said, "Besides, the official story goes that it wasn't Wikus that killed him. It was a bunch of other prawns that did it. Thing is, Wikus was there and if it wasn't for that spineless prick my brother would still be alive. And so I want to kill the bastard, mostly because it will bring…uh…_closure_ to the business to do with my brother. It doesn't matter how much I disliked my brother, it's because he was killed in the most undignified manner possible that I want to get Wikus. If I had known that that prawn was that spineless prick Wikus, I would have just killed him the first chance I got. But now that he's part of this plan of yours…Well, maybe it's better I that I didn't find out until today? Then again, he's escaped and I don't know whether to blame you for that or those moronic mercenaries back in the district. I tell you, most of the mercenaries here are absolute idiots. Sometimes I feel that I'm the only smart one here."

"You probably are," Keller said, "Excluding me and my team, of course. My team's actually full of competent people like you. That's why I said you could join up. I'm always looking for fresh blood."

"It'll probably be better than what I do now," Marinus replied, "You know what I seem to spend most of my time doing? Sometimes I'm just driving around the district shooting any prawns that try and start trouble and sometimes I even find myself stepping in prawn shit. While McTavish on the hand didn't do _shit_, he just lounged around all the fucking time watching his Steven Seagal movies. _I_ was the one that actually did the work here. _I_ was the one that actually kept law and order as best I could, not that the prawns would know what law and order is. And McTavish would take all the credit for the hard work I put in. If it wasn't for me there would be prawns all over the fucking countryside, running rampant and causing fucking trouble. I kept the prawns from leaving District 10 but naturally some are going to slip through. None would have if I had actually had mercenaries with me that knew how to do their job.

"And now McTavish is dead. I'm grateful the fucker's dead, he deserved it. From what I heard he got himself hit with one of those prawn weapons so there's not much left of him. I'm thinking that now there's going to be a lot of changes around here, for better or worse. I'm thinking that maybe I should take charge but I don't want to end up a fucking prick like McTavish. So maybe I'll find work elsewhere, once this Wikus business is dealt with."

"I hear you," Keller said, having listened to all that Marinus had said. The Captain had made some good points and didn't seem at all saddened by the unfortunate death of Colonel McTavish. Then again, Keller wasn't at all saddened by it either. He had barely gotten to know Colonel McTavish, so really what did he care about that old fart? Obviously McTavish had a serious problem if he had gone out just to get himself killed. Someone in his position should have known better.

"Once Wikus is dead I'm going to leave this fucking country, that way I don't need to deal with these fucking prawns anymore," Marinus went on, "They're only here in South Africa. Anywhere else is clean of them and I'm thinking that the rest of the world is better off without the prawns. They're already enough trouble here, especially with this insurgent organization they have. I mean, I can't believe that I didn't notice that sort of thing. Then again, none of it would have happened if it wasn't for Wikus. He's their main organizer and without him those rebels are nothing.

"If it wasn't for me," Marinus said, pausing for a moment to catch his breath, "There would have been a fucking full-blown revolution already. Those prawns would have revolted months ago if it wasn't for me. I'm the one who did all the work here…"

"And you did good," Keller said, although Marinus seemed rather pissed off. Maybe the day's events had finally given him the chance he had always wanted: to get out of this crappy job and into something far more exciting.

The radio on Keller's vest crackled into life suddenly. Marinus looked at it and Keller flicked open the channel, hearing a familiar voice speak through it. It was Hermes, flying up high in a helicopter with his buddy Frans Jochem.

"_Colonel, do you read?"_

"Yeah, I hear you," Keller said. He frowned, annoyed that the conversation had been interrupted. Whatever Hermes had to say better be important.

"_From where I am, I think I might have found out where Wikus and his friends escaped to,"_ Hermes announced. Both Keller and Marinus were instantly interested in what else had to be said.

"Yeah? Enlighten me, Hermes…"

_"There's an old mechanic's garage a few kilometres north of the district,"_ Hermes said, _"Normally I wouldn't think much of it but a thermal scan reveals that there are prawns and one human inside. I suspect it's Wikus and the others…"_

All of their helicopters came equipped with high-tech thermal imaging equipment. They were capable of detecting heat signatures through several layers of concrete and metal and thus they made excellent device for searching wide areas. The wonders of technology, Keller thought.

"It probably is," Keller said. He thought about this for a moment. "Well, whatever you do Hermes don't alert them to your presence. Give me the coordinates of where this mechanic's garage is and I and my team will head right out."

"It's likely they would have escaped the district," Marinus interjected, "And I bet they've been using this mechanic's garage as a sort of reconnoitre point. They probably have all sorts of tunnels and escape routes out of the district…And I bet Wikus is the one who came up with them. He's the only really smart one of the bunch, I would think."

"Don't underestimate the prawns, Captain," Keller said, "They're smarter than you might think."

"That's what a whole lot of people have been saying recently," Marinus said, the doubt evident in his voice, "If they're really smart then why don't they try revolting already?"

Keller shrugged as Hermes delivered the coordinates, reciting them over radio. Keller made a mental note of them and would pass them off to the boys in the tech van in order to get a satellite to pinpoint the location.

"Trust me, Captain," Keller replied, "Those prawns…They're a lot smarter than anyone thinks. And maybe one day they will decide to have a revolution. I'm thinking they just need the right motivation. Maybe they need a leader…"

"Wikus?"

"No, not Wikus," Keller said, "He's no leader. He was just an office worker up until a few years back. I'm thinking of a real leader, one that can unite their race. And something tells me that this sort of leader, this sort of 'saviour' of the prawn race, ain't going to come anytime soon."  
Keller smiled, quite pleased with himself with what he was saying. He was making himself sound so intelligent and he could see that it was rubbing off on Marinus as well.

He was right about the need for a leader, or a "saviour". He was just wrong about it not coming anytime soon. There was a saviour here in South Africa, he just didn't know it yet. And right now, he had other things on his mind…


	31. Neck Pain

**Neck Pain  
**Somewhere outside of District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
2000 Hours

For almost two hours Lukas had been walking, following the road as it streaked its way across the countryside. Above the sky had become that of the night, stars spread across its vast expanse while the moon was a mere crescent, providing only slight illumination to the landscape below. Lukas' legs ached from the non-stop walking but he didn't want to stop, he knew he couldn't afford to. Not out here in the open, especially since MNU was still searching for him.

As he walked he spat out another few of his teeth, able to feel some sort of hardened fleshy shell forming on the inside of his mouth. The exoskeleton that had spread across half of his face had started appearing at his right shoulder and down his neck, small thorn-like protrusions puncturing their way through his skin. It didn't take much to rip some of the loosened skin away, although it did hurt and he groaned each time he did it. He dropped the chunks of unneeded flesh as he walked, feeling rather strange as he did it. It was as if his body was rejecting his very flesh, as if where the changes were taking place there was no longer a need for human skin and tissue. It was frightful to think of what this implied but regardless he kept walking, thinking that there ought to be a way to reverse what was happening or at the very least stop it from continuing. Of course, that meant finding some medical attention and such an act would just get him caught by MNU. They wanted him for whatever was happening to him, presumably because he could teach them how to operate alien technology. That meant they would probably run quite a number of tests on him and then dissect him and hence Lukas knew he would have to stay out of MNU's grasp. There was no doubt in his mind that he would end up dead if he let himself get caught by MNU, hence the reason why he knew he would have to keep walking.

It struck him just how bad things were getting today. He wondered if things could get any worse. They probably could so he decided to stop thinking about that and put his mind on something else, such as wherever he would go. If he somehow made it to Johannesburg, which he highly doubted, he would go home and tell his wife what was happening. She would understand, he was sure of it. She wouldn't sell him out to MNU.

How far had he walked? No more than a few miles, perhaps less. And how far was it to Johannesburg? About two hundred miles? It could take him days to get there and he wasn't exactly kitted out with supplies. He had no water, no food…and he was damned thirsty and hungry for that matter. He needed to stop somewhere, presumably a place where he could stock up on supplies. Unfortunately there was no such place anywhere nearby, at least from what he could tell.

Alongside was the young prawn that seemed to be absolutely fascinated with him. Lukas didn't mind having its company, even if it was only just a prawn. It could have left him at any point on the journey but it hadn't, indicating some sort of loyalty it felt towards him. It was certainly faithful, that was for sure.

Lukas craved some sort of food, presumably something high protein and high sugar. He assumed that these cravings were because of what was happening to him: his body was changing and it needed nutrients to gain enough energy to handle the changes. He didn't like to think about what was happening to him, even if it was the stark truth. He was changing into a prawn and according to what Iris had said, he wasn't changing into a normal prawn. He was changing into some sort of leader caste prawn, the type that had the power to influence all the other prawns that was underneath it. He didn't know what to think of this, whether it was a good or a bad thing. It most definitely was a bad thing since he would no longer be human, even if he might retain his human mind. He would be stuck spending the rest of his life as an alien…

_This is bullshit._ Of all the people it could have happened to and it happens to him? And now he was in trouble, pursued by MNU just because they wanted to dissect him. It pissed him off to say the least and he wasn't sure whether running from them would be any good. They would find him eventually, he was sure of it. There weren't a lot of places half-prawn half-human hybrids to go. He certainly couldn't go out in public looking like he did now. But did he want to suffer through what was already an agonizing transformation just to live the rest of his life as a prawn? Or would he give himself up and hope they killed him before the transformation had a chance to finish?

His mind was one of contradicting thoughts. As he walked he felt another tooth loosen and so, without much thought about it he stuck his fingers into his mouth and yanked it free. It didn't hurt much which was strange enough in itself. Rather, it just felt a little weird and he himself felt a little weird tossing aside what was now a useless tooth. How the hell was he going to eat when half of his teeth were missing? He would need to chop up his food and mash it up in order to swallow it whole…unless those new alien teeth of his were up to the task of chewing. He figured that they were.

Alongside him, the faithful young prawn followed. Up ahead Lukas thought he could make out the shape of a distant house and he felt a wave of confidence flow through him. Even if there were people inside it he was sure he could get away with breaking in and stealing food, just as long as MNU didn't drop by. He sighed, realizing that he had been reduced to stealing just to stay alive. He wondered how long he would be able to keep this up. Not long, he thought. He was already beginning to lose his mind, especially when faced with the prospect of changing into some sort of "boss prawn".

"Would you look at that?" He asked as his gaze went to the house up ahead, directing the question to no one in particular. The young prawn, or "prawnling" chirped excitedly. He couldn't help but smile when he heard this, looking down at the creature as he walked.

"You know, you don't have to waste your time following me everywhere," Lukas said to the prawnling as they walked. The creature just chirped again and Lukas couldn't understand it. Whether it was agreeing or disagreeing was beyond him.

"Since you're so determined to stay, how about I give you a name?" Lukas asked. Part of him wasn't quite able to believe that he was wasting his time talking to what was probably a young and stupid prawn. Another part of him was relieved to have someone to talk to, even if they weren't human.

"You're a girl, so…" He trailed off. He couldn't think of anything suitable for a girl prawn, and even then he still wasn't quite sure whether the young prawn was a girl or not. It was hard to tell, especially when a prawn was as young as this one.

"And you seem pretty loyal to me, even when you don't have to be," Lukas continued, trying to come up with something, "You seem…_faithful_…"

He paused, something in his mind clicking into place as he said this.

"That's it. I'll call you 'Faith'. That's a neat little name."

The prawnling just chirped and once again Lukas couldn't tell whether it was a chirp of agreement or disagreement. The engineer shrugged and simply picked up the pace of his walking, intent on heading into the house he could see up ahead. Faith followed alongside, almost like a dog would. She was loyal like a dog and seemed rather fascinated by Lukas, especially since the start of his transformation.

Lukas coughed, putting a hand to his mouth to cover it. Some black spittle flew out and sprayed his hand and looking at it, he frowned. The black fluid, whatever it was, seemed to be all through his system now. He doubted he had long before the transformation was complete, perhaps a few days at most. Whatever this black stuff was it was certainly volatile. It surprised him to think that Wikus had gone through the same sort of thing he had, albeit he had changed into a normal prawn where Lukas was changing into some sort of "boss prawn". What that would be like in the end was unknown to the engineer but if it meant he had some sort of power over the other prawns…Well, maybe he might be able to use that to his advantage.

Such thoughts implied that he was actually on planning on letting the transformation finish. He certainly wasn't planning on that, but how he would stop it was beyond him. The house was just up ahead, being a fairly large double-storey one with a long drive way and well tended garden. There were no cars in the drive way, hinting that there was nobody home.

Lukas had never broken into a house before, primarily because he had had no reason to. He didn't know how he would go about it, he would just hope that the owners of this house didn't have some sort of security system. The house itself was out in the middle of nowhere so maybe the owners had no reason for alarm systems, maybe they had no reason to even lock their doors. And so with this thought in mind Lukas approached the front door, trying the handle but finding that the door was locked.

With that point of entry locked he assumed that the back door was locked as well. On the front lawn it seemed that the owners had been taking the time to build a small brick wall along the front of their house and so there was a pile of unused bricks lying on the grass. Lukas stepped over to the brick pile and picked one of them up, weighing it in his hand as he searched for a suitable window to break. If an alarm did ring out as soon as the window was broken he probably wouldn't have long to get in and get out of the house before the police arrived.

Faith watched him with curiosity, the young prawnling clicking with concern as she watched Lukas wield the brick and walk around the side of the house. Lukas found a suitable window and taking a step back he took aim at it, launching the brick from his right hand in a powerful throw. The brick punched a large hole through the glass of the window, sending shards showering all over the room behind it. A multitude of hairline cracks criss-crossed the rest of the glass and so, without much care for his fingers, Lukas grabbed at the inside of the hole and pulled. By now there was already some sort of dark and hard exoskeleton forming at the fingers of his right hand so it did provide some protection from the sharp glass. It didn't take much to pull a sizeable portion of the window away and Lukas smashed the rest of it out with his elbow.

Behind, the room was dark. It was some sort of lounge room, with a television set in one corner and a few sofas and couches turned to face it. Lukas hoisted himself up and through the window, tumbling through it and landing with a pained _thud_ on the floor inside. Faith followed him in, the young prawnling having no trouble climbing through the window and jumping down onto the floor. She seemed more curious than anything else and so stepped over to the coffee table, sifting through the magazines that were scattered across it.

Lukas stood up and brushed himself down of the shards of glass that were sticking to his dirtied uniform. He stepped over to the doorway of the lounge room and found the light switch, flicking it into the 'on' position. Light flooded the room and cast some illumination into the hallway that ran through the rest of the house. Lukas went straight to the kitchen, Faith following him as he raided the fridge. Lukas found a reasonably sized gym bag lying on the floor in one corner and so packed it full of as much food as he could carry, as well as other necessities such as matches and a flashlight. It didn't occur to him that he should ask the owners of the house if he could burrow their stuff. They weren't here so he effectively had free reign over their household.

Lukas opened up a drawer in the kitchen and found a fairly large and sharp chef's knife. When he saw it he picked it up, letting it glint in the starlight that filtered through the nearby window. A desperate plan began to form in his mind so he left the kitchen and found the bathroom, flicking on the light and stepping up to the mirror. In the light he could make out every part of him that was changing, as well as the small black veins that snaked out from the edges of the exoskeleton that was forming in place of his normal human flesh.

He put a hand to his neck and was able to peel away a sizeable portion of flesh there. Underneath was more of the dark and hard exoskeleton and it went on to his shoulder and onto parts of his chest. Faith wandered into the bathroom after him and watched him curiously, unsure of just what Lukas was planning on doing.

Lukas wasn't about to let himself turn into a prawn. Hell no, he was going to do something about it. At his neck he found the point where the prawn exoskeleton met human flesh. He stuck the end of the knife there and began to work it under the exoskeleton. He must have struck a nerve since a sudden shot a pain erupted across his face and he screamed. He reflexively pulled the knife away from under the exoskeleton but he did so at an angle, pulling away a small portion of the hardened exoskeleton along with the knife. Pain erupted from where the exoskeleton had been pulled and Lukas screamed again, tears welling up in his eyes as he slumped across the basin. Black blood dripped from where the exoskeleton had been pulled, some of it oozing down his neck and onto his uniform.

Why him? Why did this have to happen to him? He had a wife and daughter, he couldn't just abandon them because of this transformation bullshit. He needed to find a way to stop it but somehow he knew that there was no way. Someone couldn't just change back and forth between two entirely different physical forms: it was impossible. He wouldn't be surprised if this transformation killed him.

The pain at his neck subsided slightly, allowing Lukas to stand back up and concentrate on some other matter. Faith was behind him, looking decidedly frightened by the screaming that Lukas had done. She seemed more at ease now, even as Lukas pulled away part of his uniform and revealed his right shoulder.

Here, more of the exoskeleton had punctured its way through his flesh. The area throbbed admirably and Lukas, without much care for what would happen, used his left hand to grab a bit of the loose flesh there. He pulled and a large region peeled away, revealing more of the rough black exoskeleton underneath. He groaned, sickened at the sight of it as both red and black blood mingled. He threw the chunk of flesh into the sink but regardless of what he was feeling he continued with this repulsive work, finding another part that needed peeling as well. Within five minutes he had found that most of his right shoulder had changed, hard black exoskeleton having replaced the human flesh. And now, in the basin, a sizeable pile of bleeding human flesh and skin lay inside. Blood, both red and black, had formed in a small puddle underneath the pile. It was certainly enough to make Lukas sick and thus he spewed up into the sink, bringing up mostly black blood mingled with chunks of what looked like carrot. It seemed that carrot always managed to find its way into vomit, even if Lukas hadn't eaten a single carrot today.

Faith was standing nearby, looking up at him with worried eyes. She obviously had a fair amount of concern for her hybrid friend and Lukas could only manage a weak, faltering smile down at the young prawn. Looking at her he was reminded that things could be worse.

And how much worse could they possibly be? He was in pain, all across his changing form. He could peel chunks of his own skin off if he wanted to but he wasn't game enough to anymore, especially after what had happened now. He needed help, but where he would get that help was beyond his knowledge. What he could do was a good night's rest, especially after all that had happened today.

He could sleep in this house and hope the owner's didn't arrive anytime soon. It was just after eight o'clock in the evening and the lack of cars in the drive way gave the impression that the house hadn't seen anyone in it for a while. Maybe the owners were on holiday? He would have to take that chance, even if there was the possibility of getting caught. And then tomorrow he would head off again, back on his way to Johannesburg and his home. His wife Katherine was probably worried about him by now and he was determined to see her again, to tell her that he would be alright. Of course, he couldn't be sure of this: Would he be alright? Would he survive what was happening to him or would he die a slow and painful death? He didn't want to think about it but the latter possibility was on the forefront of his mind, especially since he was already in plenty of pain.

He looked down at Faith, noticing that she had started fiddling on the blue towel that hung from a nearby rack. She looked up at him, chirped at him and seemed to be waiting expectantly for what he would say.

"We're going to spend the night here," Lukas said. She clicked in response, sounding happy, as if she understood him. Lukas smiled again but it was half-hearted effort, especially since what was happening to him weighed rather heavily on his mind.

Lukas left the bathroom and Faith followed. The engineer wasn't too sure on just what he would do but sleep seemed a good start. However, there was one thing he was curious about and so he entered the lounge room and switched on the television set. By now a cool breeze was blowing through the window he had smashed to gain entry to the house, providing a rather chilly draught.

It didn't take him long to find a channel where there was some sort of news programme on. It took a minute or two before anything about him came on and naturally MNU was feeding the media all sorts of false truths. The reporter, a middle-aged South African man who was shuffling papers on his desk but not actually reading them (doing it only to appear busy) began speaking while a rather unflattering mug-shot of Lukas was displayed on the screen. An MNU hotline number was displayed underneath.

"_MNU has put out a general alert in regards to this man: Lukas Farber, age thirty-three, was recently exposed as a nonhuman terrorist sympathiser and as a result has gone on the run. He is to be considered armed and dangerous, and due to sexual relations with nonhumans he has developed physical disfigurements through sexually transmitted infections…"_

Lukas had heard enough. He switched off the television and stood thinking about what he had heard for a moment. What would Katherine by thinking? And what would she have to tell their daughter, Lyssa? That her father was an alien humping terrorist? Of course, such allegations were untrue but it would be enough to get any self-respecting South African to call up MNU and dob him in if they saw him.

It seemed that he would be spending the night in this house after all. There was something he wanted to do first, something that he knew would have its fair share of risks but would be ultimately rewarding if it worked out.

There was a telephone on a bench in the kitchen and he stepped over to it, picking it up and putting it to his ear. If he made his call quick then MNU would have no chance to trace him…at least, he thought that this was the case. Technology was always improving and there was the possibility that MNU was just waiting for him to call home so they could pinpoint his location and pounce. Part of him didn't care about this, he just wanted to hear his wife's voice. He wanted to tell her the truth about what was happening to him, that he wasn't an alien humping terrorist. He was hoping that Katherine had not fallen into believing the lies that MNU was pumping out. MNU, it seemed, was awfully good at lying.

He dialled his home number, watching as Faith climbed up on the bench and tried opening the biscuit jar nearby. When her first few attempts failed she simply threw the glass jar onto the floor where it smashed loudly, shattering glass everywhere but allowing the biscuits inside to fall out. She hopped back down onto the floor and began eating, becoming so absorbed in her activities that she seemed to forget that Lukas was even there in the room with her.

It took quite a number of rings for someone to actually pick up the phone. Finally Katherine's voice came through the line and Lukas was left stunned at hearing it. He was silent for quite some time as he tried to collect his thoughts, having absolutely no idea of what to say. A tear welled up in his one human eye but he ignored it, swallowing what emotions he felt in order to respond.

"_Hello? Hello…Is there anybody there?"_ There was a pause, then, _"Is this a prank call? Because I'm really not in the mood…"_

"It's me," Lukas said simply. There was a long pause on the other end of the line as Katherine recognized the voice. The pause seemed long and agonizing and Lukas began to grow impatient, only just wanting to hear her voice again.

"_Lukas?"_ Katherine's voice sounded a bit croaky. _"You shouldn't be calling…They'll track you…"_

"You don't believe them, do you?" Lukas asked. He needed to know. The silent pause he received from Katherine made his heartbeat increase.

"_The things they're saying about you…I don't think I could ever believe them."_

"They're not true," Lukas said. Damn, he was about to cry. He was a man and real men didn't cry over this sort of thing. He knew there was no use in bursting into tears so he tried his best not to. It was tough going, especially whenever Katherine spoke.

"_Lukas, just please…Listen to me. I don't know what you've done but I know it can't be true, the things they're saying about you,"_ Katherine said, her voice taking on a pleading tone, _"Just hang up Lukas, please. They've tapped my line…"_

"I don't care," Lukas said. On the other end he heard a distant voice, a male one. Lukas frowned before saying, "Who's there with you?"

There was no response. There were more voices now, one of them, an American sounding one rose above all of the others. He seemed to be telling Katherine off.

"_Please Lukas, hang up. They'll trace the call…"_

"Are they there with you? Are those MNU pricks there with you?" Lukas realized that MNU might try using her to get to him. He didn't want this to happen since he knew he would give in to whatever demands they made of him, especially when they had Katherine. He would give himself up to protect his family…besides, it was his fault they were being threatened.

"_Damn it Lukas, you can be so stubborn!"_ Katherine was shouting into the phone now, sounding as if she was simultaneously pushing away prying hands from the phone. _"Hang up and start running…Please, Lukas, listen to me! They…"_

Lukas' heart skipped a beat when Katherine's voice cut out suddenly. He was about to start yelling into the phone at whatever MNU goons were in the house with her but before he could another voice, this one American, came on over the line.

"_Hey Lukas, I wouldn't try making a run for it,"_ the American said, _"Otherwise something terrible might happen to your wife and kid. And I don't like hurting ladies, you know? You should turn yourself in, make everything so much easier for everybody, including yourself…"_

"You _fuck_," Lukas said, rage building inside him. Whoever this American was he was probably the one person that Lukas wanted to kill.

Outside, he heard what sounded like a helicopter. It seemed plausible that MNU had been using helicopters to scour the whole countryside for him: all it took was one call to the nearest chopper and they would be right above him. It sounded like they were now, leaving Lukas with little time to act.

"I don't know who you are," Lukas said, "But if you hurt my wife or my daughter, I will find you. And when I do, I will kill you. No matter what happens to me, I will find a way to get you…"

"_Oh please Lukas, spare me the action movie bullshit,"_ the American said mockingly, _"You're nobody. You're just an engineer who's been having a bad day. It's us who will get you, not the other way around. And once more, I suggest to you that you turn yourself in, otherwise there will be trouble."_

Lukas realized that this man, whoever he was, was right: he was an engineer, not a soldier. How could he possibly track this man down and kill him? Lukas didn't even know if he had the guts to kill someone. And if his wife and daughter were in danger, maybe he should just turn himself in…

Leaving Wikus and the others had been a mistake on his part, he realized that now. If he had stayed with them he wouldn't have been able to make this call and get traced…but then he wouldn't have been able to find out that his family was in danger. MNU, it seemed, were quite willing to drop to a level that involved threatening his wife and daughter.

"Who are you?" Lukas asked, barely able to control his rage. The nerve of this American…the man's very tone was enough to anger the engineer, more so than anything else ever had before.

"_My name's Richard Houser,"_ the American replied, _"I'm a businessman. And my business sense tells me you should just turn yourself in…"_

"Go fuck yourself," Lukas replied.

With that, he put the phone back in the holder. And, in a sudden burst of anger he swept one arm across the bench and sent the phone and the holder flying across the kitchen, frightening Faith as it went. It slammed into the microwave and cracked the glass. By now Lukas could hear the helicopters overhead, what sounded like two of them. Searchlight beams cut through the darkness and one came through the nearby window. He was trapped, he knew that. And now he had just committed himself to going against this Richard Houser guy. He wouldn't turn himself in, not a chance. What he would do is kill him, or at the very least find his wife and daughter and ensure that they were safe. It seemed foolhardy and just asking for him to get killed but Lukas didn't care. He wouldn't go down quietly, especially since it was obvious to him that this whole operation had been engineered for something like what was happening to him to occur. MNU _wanted_ him to change into a prawn, that way they could dissect him and do whatever they wanted to him.

There were footsteps near the front door. Both Lukas and Faith looked in its general direction, now alert. Without much more thought about it Lukas picked up Faith and she clung onto him by holding onto his shoulder and putting an arm around his neck. Lukas hoisted up the gym bag that he had filled with food and headed out into the hallway, just as the front door was forcefully kicked open. He caught a glimpse of a mercenary in typical black MNU combat gear rushing inside, followed by two others.

Lukas turned in the opposite direction, ignoring the shouts that the mercenaries sent his way. His heart was racing now as he raced down the hallway, heading for the back door. He knew he would have trouble escaping but he would try anyway, even if his chances were slim. He wasn't about to just give up.

He came to the door and opened it, about to rush out into the night when there was a sudden, high-pitched _ping!_ Something stung him in the lower back and he dropped the gym bag, grabbing what had hit him in the back. He plucked it from him and looked at it, finding it to be a bright red tranquilizer dart.

He tossed it aside and started out of the back door, only to stumble as his whole lower body went numb. He lowered Faith onto the floor, aware that the mercenaries were racing up to him from behind. He tried walking but simply fell into a heap on the ground, the numbness he felt at his legs spreading all throughout his body. MNU wanted him alive judging by the act of tranquilizing him. Maybe he did have a chance of escape before they did whatever it was they were planning to do to him.

All sorts of thoughts went through his mind, even as his vision began to swim. He wanted to press on, regardless of the tranquilizer drugs that were invading his system. He tried to get up but found himself unable to, his body simply not responding to the commands his brain was sending it.

One of the mercenaries stopped on the steps of the back door a short distance behind him and raised a tranquilizer gun. The weapon coughed and another dart struck Lukas in the back of the neck. For all of the strength his changing form was giving him, two tranquilizer darts were enough to send the engineer into unconsciousness.

Lukas fell flat on his face, his last image that of one of the mercenaries grabbing Faith, only for the young prawn to bite him in the hand. The mercenary swore and let go of the prawnling while another of the mercenaries kicked her, knocking her out so that she lay a short distance from Lukas.

And Lukas' vision faded, the engineer falling into the sleep he had been meaning to get until the interruption. Above, a pair of helicopters shined their searchlights down upon the fallen engineer while a few mercenaries stood around him, looking down with some curiosity at the half-human half-prawn hybrid that lay before them.


	32. Trouble at the Garage

**Trouble at the Garage  
**Somewhere outside of District 10, South Africa  
June 11th, 2013  
2015 Hours

For almost three years Wikus had been forced to live among the prawns, even if he would have preferred otherwise. For almost three years he had been forced to live as one of them, eking out whatever living he could find in District 9 and then in District 10. And in recent months he had become involved in the resistance, more out of pity for the rebellious prawns than for any other reason. Before he had come along the resistance had been a disorganized mess and would have easily been destroyed by even the slightest of MNU efforts. Not many of the prawns could organize a whole resistance organization in an efficient manner, thus Wikus had stepped in to help. If he had known that his efforts to work the alien medical pod would have been in vain he would not have bothered with the resistance, instead hiding himself away until Christopher Johnson returned…whenever that would be. Something told him that the prawn wouldn't be coming back to Earth anytime soon, leaving Wikus to continue living as a prawn himself for God only knew how long.

Today had been a rather bad day. It was certainly one of Wikus' worse ones and he had had plenty of bad days, most notably the one when he had been held captive by MNU and had been forced to escape to save himself. Things had gone progressively worse from then on before he had been able to flee into District 9 and live among the prawns, giving himself the pseudonym "Willis Harrison" in order to avoid attracting the attention of MNU or anyone else who might be interested in getting hold of him. He was fairly certain that there were plenty of organizations out there who would like to get hold of him for whatever reason, even if he doubted he would be much use to them in his current state. He was a prawn after all, not some sort of hybrid anymore. He was just as scientifically valued as any other ordinary prawn.

He didn't care much for Lukas Farber, especially since the engineer had left a few hours ago and was probably out in the countryside somewhere getting himself chased by MNU goons. They would want him more than they wanted Wikus primarily because of what was happening to the engineer. It was a different sort of transformation and an accelerated one at that: Wikus doubted that Lukas had long left as a human. However, this wasn't what intrigued him the most: it was the fact that Lukas may very well be changing into one of the Popleekwa leader caste. If that happened and Lukas was able to exert influence over the lesser prawns (and probably Wikus as well, a thought that unnerved him slightly) he'll have himself access to a sort of private army of prawns…one that numbered about three million. Wikus doubted that Lukas would accept his fate and new position when this happened, especially since the engineer obviously didn't want help. He had left after an argument earlier on and Wikus, quite frankly, didn't give a damn about him. Lukas not being here would certainly take some of the heat off of himself and the others in the group.

Carl had fallen asleep in the corner where he sat, having been quite withdrawn from the others. His grandson had been killed and so Carl probably didn't have much to live for anymore. Wikus wouldn't be surprised if Carl decided to give himself up to MNU. Nor did Wikus care much about this, seeing as Carl hated him anyway. The grumpy old prawn had never liked him, calling him the "ex-human" among other insults. Carl had never liked the way Wikus had actually gained friends amongst the prawns as well as how he had become in charge of the resistance. Carl had always seen this organization as his own, even if he had next to no idea on how to run it effectively.

Sitting nearby was Michael and he was doing his best to remain awake but his exhaustion was evident. He kept on lulling off to sleep, only to shake himself out of it and sit up suddenly. He was expecting something to happen just like everyone else was. Wikus wouldn't be surprised if MNU rocked up at the front door but even so the group was better inside than out. There was nothing but grassy plains and savannah outside and it would be easier for MNU to find them out there than it was for them to pinpoint their location when they were indoors.

Iris, the female, was sitting near the counter where Wikus had seated himself. She was quiet as usual, trying to fall asleep but finding that she was unable to. Too much had happened today for sleep to come easy for her.

Wikus had always known that Iris liked him but he was never going to repay those feelings she had for him. Just because he was a prawn it didn't mean he would be about to start liking female prawns, especially since it was often hard to tell the gender of a prawn. Iris was always there to support him, even if she was a prawn. Wikus could never bring himself to like her but he didn't tell her to go away, he did prefer her company over the company of say, Carl. With Iris he always felt welcome into the prawn community while Carl just had to keep reminding him that maybe he wasn't so welcome after all.

Sitting across the room was Vincent and Linda. Wikus could tell that the pair genuinely had something going between them, even if they made a somewhat unlikely couple. Vincent was maintaining his Popleekwan-built arc cannon, using a piece of cloth to wipe the weapon clean of any dirt that might have collected upon it. Linda had fallen asleep in her chair, her head lulling off to one side while a thin trail of drool crept down from one corner of her mouth.

It was quiet inside the old mechanic's garage and it was also somewhat dark. The eyes of a prawn were well-equipped to see in the darkness but even so it was still rather dim. Switching on the lights would have been a rather unwise move since it would simply make MNU's job of finding them easier.

Wikus was sitting, thinking of what to do next. With Lukas gone the heat from MNU would be off of them somewhat. However, there was still the matter of the medical pod and what it contained. If MNU were able to exploit the alien fluid then all sorts of hell might break loose. In all, Wikus reckoned that things were all rather fucked up now. It had been expected that the resistance might be discovered, he just hadn't been expecting it now.

The pod would have to be destroyed. Sure, this was a simple enough task since all that was really needed was a Popleekwan weapon and the pod. However, the pod was undoubtedly under heavy guard back at the mercenary compound near District 10, thus complicating matters further. They would need to break in and destroy it and somehow escape without getting captured or killed. It would be an impossible enough task but Wikus was fairly certain he could do it. He didn't know what the others were thinking but he knew that he could do it, especially considering that he had done this sort of thing before. Breaking into MNU headquarters to retrieve the alien cylinder had been a cinch. Sure, the others could come with him but he doubted Carl or Iris would want to do it. Vincent and Michael, on the other hand, would be more than willing.

When would be the best time to carry out such a mission anyway? Later on tonight seemed to be the most appropriate time, although he was quite tired now. Running around getting shot at and trying to escape the district had tired him out a fair bit, as well as everybody else in the group. The matter of the medical pod did need urgent attention though and he was determined to settle the matter as soon as was deemed appropriate.

"I don't think you should do it," Iris said suddenly. Wikus looked up, the equivalent of a frown appearing on his alien features. She had known what he had been thinking, although this was understandable since it wouldn't take much thought to determine what he was thinking about.

Wikus had always found Iris' "voice of reason" demeanour a tad frustrating and now was no different.

"And why shouldn't I?" Wikus asked. He was in a bad enough mood already, he didn't need some prawn to tell him what he should and shouldn't do. Then again, he was just as much of a prawn as she was. This thought always pissed him off and for the last three years he had lived in close denial of what he was. Every time he looked in a mirror he was reminded of what he had once been. Every time he saw that photo of him and his wife he was reminded of the life he had once had. And these things angered him for he knew that what had happened to him was simply unfair. To painfully change physical form into that of an alien was simply unbelievable and yet it had happened. He was reminded of what he once was every time he went to urinate or every time he went to speak or every time he looked down at himself and saw what he was now. He was one of _them_.

"You'll get yourself killed," Iris said, turning to him, "We already lost Lawrence today. No one else needs to die…"

"People die every fucking day," Wikus said, "It's a fact of life. And I'm not about to sit back and watch those fuckers at MNU use whatever the hell was in that fucking pod to churn out a whole load of super soldiers."

"I can understand your animosity towards them," Iris replied, her tone gentle and almost soothing…soothing enough to annoy Wikus further. Why was she always trying to act like some sort of psychiatrist towards him? She was always trying to talk him down and quite often she succeeded, a fact that only annoyed Wikus further. Why did he listen to her? Why did he listen to a prawn, of all things?

Well, he was a prawn as well. All he had to do was look down at himself, perhaps flex the claws of one hand or wriggle his antennae. Christ, he hated his life. He probably would have taken it himself already if it wasn't for the promise Christopher Johnson had made…

"_Three years…I promise."_

And the three year mark was almost here and still no sign of Christopher Johnson or any of the help he might be bringing with him. Some would say that Wikus van de Merwe was a traitor to his own race for aiding Christopher Johnson to escape and presumably bring a whole alien armada back with him. Wikus couldn't help but agree with this opinion, furthering his own self-hatred. He already despised the way he was now, unable to confront his wife in fear of what she might do.

"For what they did to you they can never be forgiven," Iris continued, "But going out of your way to undertake some ultimately pointless suicide mission…You'll die in vain."

"I don't fucking care anymore," Wikus said and this was quite true. "I stopped caring when I became a stinking fucking prawn. And I want to see this thing through, since it was my idea to get the medical pod…If I can't destroy it and bring closure to that fucking plan I'll go crazy."

"I admire your determination, Wikus," Iris said, "But just ask yourself this question: What are you going to achieve by getting yourself killed? We'll still be worse off, forced to live in squalid conditions…And yet you seem so determined just to see this whole thing through. Why? Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does fucking matter," Wikus snapped, even though he had absolutely no clue as to why it mattered. "Why it matters? I…I…" He faltered. "I want to see it through. I don't care if I live or die anymore. My life's shitty enough already."

Iris shook her head. Was that a glimmer of pity in her eyes?

"I don't need your fucking sympathy," Wikus snapped, "And I don't need you to try and talk me out of doing it. Once I've set a plan in my mind I go ahead and do it. There's going to be no backing down from it. And nothing you say can change my mind."

"You have a lot of inner anger…"

"Of course I have a lot of anger!" Wikus exclaimed, slamming a clawed hand on the counter in front of him. At the sound Carl and Linda were jolted out of their sleep while Vincent and Michael looked towards the grumpy prawn to try and work out what the problem was. Iris winced slightly at the sound but otherwise didn't say anything.

"I'm going to be angry when prawns like you keep trying to talk me down, as if I'm some sort of fucking psychopath!" Wikus continued, unable to contain himself any longer. He stood up, sweeping the cash register off of the counter, letting it smash against the wall behind, the impact making its drawer open suddenly. He picked up the CR21 rifle he had left on the counter, determined to leave now and head for the mercenary compound to end this once and for all.

"I am not a psycho," Wikus said as he stormed past Iris. She was watching him carefully, unfazed by his sudden outburst. "What I am is fucking determined…and I'm going to see this through…"

"What about Lukas?"  
"Who cares about that fucker?" Wikus said, stopping and turning around. Now everyone in the room was looking at him, a fact that he didn't find too bothersome.

"If he's changing into one of the leader caste we should find him," Iris said, "He may be our only hope…"

"Our only hope to what?" Wikus asked. He didn't care about Lukas since that moron had obviously been determined to go without their help. Wikus wasn't about to waste time going out of his way to find the hybrid.

"To unite our people…"

"_Our_ people? Bullshit. I'm not one of you. And I never will be, regardless of what I fucking look like." Wikus was breathing heavily now, short on breath from all the yelling and swearing he had been doing. He still wasn't done though, especially since Iris did not seem at all perturbed by his volatile reaction. Instead she simply looked at him with those pitying golden-yellow eyes of hers while everybody else simply looked on and listened.

"I'm not like any of you," Wikus said, somewhat lower in volume this time, "I never will be like any of you, and that's the way I fucking prefer it. I still have my human mind, up here…" He tapped at his temple with one claw to add emphasis onto this point.

"And Lukas? Fuck Lukas. He left, he doesn't want our help and if that's the way he wants it that's fine with me."

"But we need to unite our people and with a possible new leader, such as Lukas…"

"Do you think Lukas is going to want to help us? Do you think he cares about your race?" Wikus asked and unsurprisingly, Iris had no response. The answer was an obvious "no". This was more profound since Lukas had left, making it clear that he wanted nothing to do with any of them. He was probably busy getting himself caught by MNU. Wikus did not care about what happened to Lukas, MNU could dissect him and do all sorts of experiments on him. It wouldn't change anything, at least not for a while…

"I'm going to go to the mercenary compound," Wikus said, "And I'm going to find that fucking pod and destroy it. It's brought nothing but fucking trouble since we got it. If I had known this would happen I would have thought twice about going out of my way to get the fucking thing. And knowing my luck it turns out it's not working. What a fucking surprise! Nothing ever works out for Wikus van de Merwe…It's as if God or some other higher power hates my guts! If there was a God he wouldn't have let me turn into a fucking smelly bug, that's for sure!" He would have laughed if he could (prawns could not), the futility of their situation finally occurring to him. What was the point? They were but a mere few going against a corporation that spanned the globe. Still, Wikus wanted to see the matter with the medical pod through to the end…even if there wasn't much point in doing so. It was just a matter he knew would continue to gnaw away at his conscience until it was done with.

"If you're going to the compound, I'll come with you," Michael said, rising to his feet. He picked up his R4 assault rifle that lay on the floor near him and he locked and loaded it, rather fluent in its use.

"And so will I…" Vincent began, but he was interrupted by Linda.

"Are you serious?" She asked him, her voice laced with concern, "It's a suicide mission."

"The human's right," Carl interjected, standing up. Wikus turned to face the old prawn, having a feeling that he was about to get subjected to a lengthy rant about why going to destroy the medical pod would be a pointless and dangerous exercise.

"It is a suicide mission," Carl added, "Not that I could care much if you got yourself killed, Wikus. However, the last thing I need is for one of you to get captured and in turn tell the humans about our entire resistance organization. With that information our chances of freedom will be destroyed as MNU will no doubt move in and arrest and execute everyone involved in and with the organization. And I have a feeling that MNU would want Wikus alive, seeing as they seem to be fairly certain that he's one of the resistance's main organizers…"

"I was only doing all of that for myself, you know," Wikus said, interrupting the old prawn. Annoyed pheromones emanated off of Carl but Wikus paid little attention to them. "I had known about the existence of the medical pod for a while since an old friend of mine had tipped me off about it. I didn't join your fucking little resistance movement to help you guys out. I joined because I knew it would be my best ticket to get the pod…and now it turns out the fucking thing doesn't work! That means I don't need to work with you morons any longer and that's why I'm going to leave."

Some distance down the road from the mechanic's garage a few MNU APCs came to a halt. From within several armed mercenaries flowed out, followed by Colonel Keller. They would move in on the garage quickly and quietly in order to minimize the chances the fugitives inside had of escaping or causing general trouble.

No one in the mechanic's garage was aware of the arrival of the MNU goons. Instead, Wikus continued with his hurried and angered speech. He was going to make it absolutely clear that he didn't need to have anything to do with these prawns any longer…The medical pod had turned out to be a false hope and thus what else could he do except wait around for Christopher Johnson to return…_if_ he ever returned. And Wikus wasn't about to put all of his faith into a prawn. Hence the need to do something that would have a far more immediate effect: he would destroy the medical pod and deny MNU the use of the alien fluid within, the very same fluid that was now turning Lukas Farber into some sort of "leader prawn".

"And you, Carl," Wikus snapped, pointing an accusing claw at the old prawn, "You're nothing but a grumpy old shithead, you know that? No matter what I did for this resistance group you always managed to keep up that dislike you had of me, even if I actually did some good for the resistance. You just can't get past the fact that I'm like you…You don't like it. And to tell you the truth, I don't give a fuck about what you like and don't like. And you know that without me, your resistance is nothing. It'll go back to the old days of derailing trains and blowing up cars. No more organization and nothing you say can change my mind abut leaving."

Carl simply stood listening to all of this with a passive look upon his alien features. Wikus was getting a great deal of satisfaction from saying all of this, finally relieving his mind of all of these weighty matters that had been on his mind.

"And Iris," Wikus continued, shifting his gaze to the female, "I understand that you like me and all, but I don't like you. I can never be attracted to a fucking prawn, of all things. And I'm married, did you know that? I'm married to a human woman, one who I haven't actually seen for almost three whole years. I have your race to blame for that and for the way I am now…"

Iris digested all that was said and seemed to be keeping a neutral gaze. She emitted very little in the way of pheromones, as if unsure of how to respond or of how to feel about what was being said. If prawns could cry she probably would be doing just that right about now.

"Come on Michael," Wikus said finally, gesturing to the other prawn to follow, "We're leaving this place. It's a dump anyway."

Michael simply nodded and started towards Wikus.

"And Vincent, you can come along as well," Wikus said as he turned to head for the door. Vincent stood up but was quickly held back by Linda. It was obvious the human woman didn't want him to go.

"Don't, Vincent," she said simply, "I don't want you to die…"

"Oh for fuck's sake, he ain't going to die!" Wikus exclaimed, exasperated. "Chances are the mercenaries guarding that pod are absolute morons, just like all the others we've encountered. I wouldn't be half surprised if they couldn't shoot straight…"  
At that moment the front door exploded and shards of wood and glass flew inside. The blast was strong enough to knock Wikus onto the floor, stunning him momentarily while his CR21 rifle went flying out of his grip and sliding across the floor. It stopped far out of his reach.

Wikus looked around the room, trying to get over the partial deafness the explosion had created in him. He watched as Vincent and Linda got up and started for the back door, Vincent using his arc cannon to fire away at the destroyed front door. Showers of red blood erupted from the doorway as a few unfortunate mercenaries were hit by the blue-white lightning-like bolts of energy. Wikus' claws scrambled along the hard concrete floor, searching for his rifle but unable to find it.

Carl saw Wikus' fallen rifle and started towards it. Wikus turned his gaze towards the front door and watched as a blonde-haired woman in MNU combat gear charged inside, wielding a combat shotgun. She raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger, the shot practically deafening inside the interior of the garage. The flash at the barrel was bright in the relative dimness of the garage and the buckshot that was propelled forwards slammed right into Carl's chest. Exoskeleton plates were ruptured and an explosion of thick black blood followed them. The force of the shotgun blast was enough to send Carl flying a short distance backwards and he fell behind the counter, taking with him a few cardboard boxes and a lamp. Wikus wasn't at all surprised when Carl didn't get back up.

Wikus' hearing returned to normal and he slowly began to rise to his feet. There was shouting as a few more mercenaries charged inside, two of them rushing up to him. Both grabbed his arms and forced him down onto his knees but Wikus struggled, delivering a strong swipe of the right claw into the mercenary on that side. The mercenary, a young dark haired man, was sent flying across the room and he slammed painfully into the wall, falling down it and landing in an unconscious heap on the floor.

A gunshot rang out from the doorway and something hot and fast hit Wikus in the right arm. Shouting, Wikus clutched at his wounded arm and fell forwards, trying to stem the blood flow. Immediately a familiar looking mercenary, Marinus Venter, stepped in front of him and trained his CR21 rifle on Wikus' head.

"Don't try anything funny, fuck-face," Marinus said sternly. Behind him was Colonel Keller, someone Wikus recognized from what had happened back in the shack in District 10.

Wikus wasn't too surprised by the fact that MNU had found them. The corporation had access to plenty of resources, including satellites and informers. They had probably been scouring the countryside for any sign of the fugitives and had undoubtedly found one, thus leading them straight here.

Iris had been forced onto her knees along with Michael. Both were nearby, held at gunpoint by disgruntled looking mercenaries including the young woman who had shot and killed Carl. Vincent and Linda were nowhere to be seen.

A mercenary rushed in and he stepped up to Colonel Keller.

"Sir, two of them, a prawn and a human woman left out the back," He announced, "We haven't been able to catch them but they haven't got anywhere to go. I've sent some of the men after them…"  
Keller pondered the matter for a moment, mostly disinterested. His gaze was fixed on Wikus while his efforts were focused on blowing on the cigar he had sticking from one corner of his mouth. He removed the cigar from his mouth and let it waft smoke from one hand.

"Keep watch on those two since they'll probably lead us straight to the rest of the resistance," he said, "Otherwise, we have who we want right here."

Wikus kept his hands on his head, as did Iris and Michael. He knew that Keller was referring to him and there were no prizes in guessing why. Wikus was the "ex-human" and one of the resistance's main organizers, providing two rather profound reasons why he might be of use to MNU. They could study him for one, probably dissect him in an effort to determine how he had survived the transformation. And with him gone the Popleekwan resistance would revert to the shambles it had been before he had joined up.

"This time you're not going to get away from me so easily," Keller said, looking down at where Wikus knelt. Wikus didn't think he should give this man the satisfaction of getting a reply and so remained silent. Besides, Wikus' right arm was bleeding a hell of a lot and was stinging like an absolute bitch.

"Some of our guys are going out to find your friend Lukas," Keller continued nonplussed, "Turns out the idiot decided to call his wife using a phone in a house in the region. It doesn't take much to trace a phone call nowadays, so they know precisely where he is. And it didn't take much to find you lot either."

He paused, sticking the cigar back into his mouth and puffing on it gently. They had Lukas? Wikus wasn't surprised. He had been fairly sure the engineer would get himself caught…then again he wouldn't have been much better off remaining here either. It seemed that anything they did was futile as MNU would always find them out. Wikus couldn't help but feel considerably demoralised.

"My superiors have plans for you, Mr. Van de Merwe," Keller said, "Including working out just how the hell you ended up a prawn. You're a scientific goldmine according to my superiors, so they've ordered me to come and collect you. Your friends, however…"  
Keller turned to where Michael and Iris lay.

"Kill them both," he ordered the female mercenary. The woman nodded and raised her shotgun.

Wikus made eye contact with Michael. The young prawn simply shook his head, dissuading Wikus from attempting to stop the execution. However, there was no way Wikus was just about to let Michael and Iris get shot.

Wikus rose to his feet and charged for the Colonel, just as the female mercenary ('TAYLOR' was the name on her vest) fired her combat shotgun. Michael's head exploded into a bloody chunky mess and the rest of his body slumped lifelessly onto the floor. Iris shifted away from the mess that had been created, fear and despair visible in her eyes.

At this moment Wikus collided with the Colonel, sending him into the floor. The Colonel rolled out of the way of Wikus' first punch, kicking the prawn in the crotch and knocking him backwards. The two mercenaries behind him grabbed him by the arms, forcing them behind his back. Wikus struggled against their grips but was dissuaded when one of them delivered a painful blow into his lower back with the butt end of a rifle. Wikus fell into a heap on the floor, grunting in pain as his wounded right arm throbbed.

He looked up as Colonel Keller rose back onto his feet, barely fazed by the short scuffle.

"Don't kill her…" Wikus said. He didn't need another death on his conscience and even if he didn't like Iris he wasn't about to let her die needlessly.

Keller frowned.

"I don't speak your language boy…"

"He said that you shouldn't kill her," Marinus interjected. Sarah Taylor lowered the shotgun, turning to look at Keller and await orders.

There was noticeable conflict on Keller's features. Obviously the man did have a conscience, even if it was buried beneath his overall ruthless and cold and calculating persona. Wikus looked up at him, able to detect the contradictions in the way Keller's right eyebrow twitched.

"I suppose my superiors could do with another test subject," he said finally. Sarah Taylor relaxed and Iris did the same, albeit more noticeably. Keller knelt down so that he was level with Wikus, staring into the prawn's eyes with a cruel gaze.

"Don't thank me yet," he said, "Hell, you're both going to wind up dead soon enough. I'm sure you would like to know where you're going, huh? Would you? Because it's a fair drive from here."

Wikus assumed it was an MNU facility, probably over in Johannesburg. He didn't say anything, deeming it pointless since it was obvious that Keller didn't understand prawn.

"We're going to a nice place on the South Africa-Zimbabwe border," Keller said, "But first we're going to take you and your friend here to a secure train station since guess what…You're going for a train ride because driving takes too fucking long. Ain't that just exciting? I mean, when I was a kid I always wanted to drive a train. And look at what I ended up as: a damn mercenary. How unlikely was that?" Keller was smiling in a rather unnerving manner as he said all of this.

Wikus was surprised to hear the location and the means of getting there. What kind of place were they going to take him? It was probably out of the way of any prying public eyes…And a trip upon a train seemed like a logical way to do it. Trains brought considerably less attention on themselves than an aeroplane did, especially since MNU would want to keep a low profile when transporting potential test subjects.

"Tie him and his friend up," Keller ordered as he stood back up. Wikus didn't struggle, resigned to whatever fate awaited him. He was sure he would get out of this situation somehow…but even if he did, MNU would never stop hunting him. His life would be a constant fleeing from MNU. What was the point in trying to escape if he would just get caught again?

And so Wikus resigned himself to whatever cruel fate awaited him. As much as he hated to admit it but it was finished: MNU had the pod and the prawn resistance would be eradicated. Chances are he would end up dead and cut open on a surgical table somewhere. The only thing he wanted to do was see his wife again before that happened but he doubted that he would get a chance to do this. Now he could understand why Lukas had left.

The mercenaries behind him tied his wrists together with a length of sturdy rope before forcing him up onto his feet. The same was done to Iris, the female keeping her head low as she was escorted out of the garage. Wikus was escorted outside as well, emerging into the cold night air. The mercenaries had parked their vehicles a fair way down the road, having walked the rest of the distance in order to remain stealthy. If anything these mercenaries were certainly better at their jobs than he had originally thought.

And by morning tomorrow him, Iris and Lukas would be on a train bound for the border. It seemed that they were destined to become mere test subjects for MNU. Wikus had this thought in mind as he was forced into the back of an APC, trying to work out how Vincent and Linda were faring.


	33. The Train

**The Train  
**A train station outside of Carletonville, South Africa  
June 12th, 2013  
0930 Hours

The train was of a typical length, consisting of several metal carriages that glinted in the sunlight. However, some of these carriages were not just typical passenger or luggage ones: the few at the end were in fact built as mobile laboratories, thus allowing research to be undertaken on the trip to the facility located on the South Africa-Zimbabwe border. The luggage carriage had been converted into a sort of holding area for any captives and was where Wikus, Iris and the young prawnling named Faith had been locked up.

The main laboratory carriage had no windows and only some vents that provided insulation to the outside. The air conditioning was on to a near full extent, a steady whoosh of air billowing in through the grating in the ceiling. The inside of the carriage was very cool (temperature-wise) and quite sterile, consisting of a grey silver metal surgical table and a few benches down the side that were taken up by items like microscopes and computers.

The train itself remained stationary in a fairly standard train station, one that had since been closed to public use for a number of months. MNU mercenaries and technicians were busy loading equipment and the like onto the train in preparation for its trip across the country and to Zimbabwe. Colonel Keller had wandered into the laboratory carriage, having to pass through a decontamination chamber which sprayed him down with rushing jets of white smelly smoke. Once he was through that he stepped through an automatic door and into the laboratory environment of the carriage, taking a brief look around. His eyes found the scientist in residence here, a forty year old man of medium statue and greying hair. The name tag on his white lab-coat read "WERNER".

Strapped to the surgical table was the ever changing Lukas Farber. He was unconscious, having since been sedated upon being brought here the night before. He had been stripped down to the waist, revealing that the transformation had begun to appear across his chest with small thorn-like "spikes" beginning to puncture their way through his flesh.

Most of Lukas' face had started to "go prawn", with almost the entire right half having lost any human features. The hair on that side of his head had since fallen out, giving a rather strange "halfway between" look. Dark prawn exoskeleton took up most of his neck and the entirety of his right shoulder and arm. His right hand had changed into that of a prawn the night before, the clawed fingers having since replaced normal human ones. The transformation had started to appear at his stomach region as well, albeit only slightly. Keller doubted Lukas had much time left as a human judging from the speed of the changes that were overtaking his body. It was certainly a curious, if not repulsive sight to gaze at some sort of "half-breed". Keller found himself feeling sick and being fascinated at the same time. Dr. Werner, on the other hand, was used to seeing such sights since he had been one of MNU's main researchers during the genetics research the corporation had been undertaking for a number of years up until early 2011. Now he had sold his services to the organization that Keller represented, seeing as MNU was no longer permitted to continue with its genetics research.

Werner had a clipboard held in one hand and he was skimming through the information printed out on the paper that the clipboard was holding. He seemed to be frowning, as if something on that paper had gotten him worried.

It was Keller's responsibility to make sure this whole transportation operation ran smoothly. He was in a position to know everything about their cargo, including the alien medical pod and the state of Lukas Farber. The one thing that he didn't need was for this train ride to go horribly wrong for whatever reason. If that happened he might just lose his temper.

Apparently MNU hadn't been quite willing to lend them an airplane to do the job, primarily because it would draw too much attention. So, instead of an airplane they had been made to settle for a train and a rather specialized one at that. There was a whole complement of mercenaries on board just in case trouble did start up. The passenger facilities were practically first class, including such luxuries as a bar and lounge area in one of the carriages. In one of the cargo carriages the alien medical pod had been strapped down and covered up with a tarpaulin, pending further research into what it was exactly and the capabilities of the black fluid that seemed to be seeping from it.

That black fluid had been what had put Lukas Farber into his sorry state. Keller would never have liked the same sort of thing to happen to him, especially because of the agony it seemed to be putting Lukas in. What sort of sick operation were the prawns running when they could turn a human into one of their own?

Of course, Lukas had been selected for the specialist team since he had the certain genetic qualities that were needed to survive such a transformation. Most other people, Keller included, wouldn't be able to survive and instead would die horrible, slow and painful deaths. This had been proven in experiments in the past and the files concerning it had been forwarded to Keller when he had arrived in South Africa. Wikus van de Merwe had been a special case, as had Lukas Farber. And Wikus, along with that prawn named Iris and that younger one that had been found with Lukas were now all locked away in one of the cargo carriages.

Dr. Werner looked up as Keller entered, losing the frown and simply eyeing the Colonel in a neutral manner. He noticed the Colonel's disgusted look when he saw what was happening to Lukas and the doctor only smiled in response.

"It's fascinating, isn't it?" Werner asked, sounding in awe of the phenomenon.

"Uh…Yeah…" Keller replied. He reached into a pocket in his vest and pulled out a cigar, along with a lighter. He was about to stick it in his mouth and light the end when Werner stepped over and snatched the cigar from his grip.

"This is a laboratory, Colonel," Werner said, frowning as he placed the cigar on a nearby table, "You can't smoke in here. It's a sterilised room, hence the decontamination chamber."

Keller didn't like it when people snatched things off of him like that but he thought twice about hitting the doctor because of it. He supposed he could make do without a cigar for now, besides he could smoke anywhere else in the train.

"Whatever you say," Keller replied absently. He picked the cigar up from the bench and slipped it back into his pocket along with the lighter. Werner, satisfied that the matter had been dealt with, returned his attention to the half-breed lying on the surgical table.

"How's he holding up?" Keller asked, "Anything interesting happen? Like, did his balls drop off or something? Because I wouldn't be surprised…"

"He's fine," Werner replied, unamused despite the fact that Keller was managing a beaming smile, "And nothing's happened to his _balls_, Colonel. At least not yet."

"So, what do you intend on doing with him once we get to the facility up north?" Keller asked, genuinely curious. He was fairly certain that poor old Lukas Farber would be cut open in order to have his internal organs mucked around with or something of the kind to do with blood and guts. These scientist types could be nasty.

"Firstly, we'll run some tests," Werner said, "I've already taken some blood and DNA samples and run tests on those. It's all quite fascinating, if you ask me."

"I _am_ asking you, Doc," Keller replied. These scientists could be such idiots some times...At least, this was in Keller's opinion. The Colonel continued after a moment's pause: "In layman's terms, how about you tell me what's happening to him? And why is it happening so fast?"

Werner paused to think about this for a moment, running through the explanation in his mind. Layman's terms? Oh dear, that would be difficult. Especially when dealing with someone like Colonel Keller who probably didn't know the difference between DNA and RNA.

"His very genetic make-up is changing," Werner said, "And it's happening at an accelerated pace…well, I don't actually know why it's happening at the pace it is. I'll need to make more tests. On the other hand, the physical changes are evident just by looking at him. The internal ones, not so much."

Keller felt like a cigar but didn't bother taking it back out of his pocket. He looked down at Lukas, some sort of movement catching his eyes. He took a closer look at where the prawn exoskeleton met human flesh and this revealed that there was something wriggling under the skin, exposing itself as thin black veins. They seemed to be creeping throughout the engineer's system as a precursor to when prawn exoskeleton would burst out of his flesh. Obviously, whatever was in those black veins was causing the changes. And whatever the black fluid in that pod was, it was damned volatile. Keller suddenly felt uneasy about carrying around a cylinder full of it, even if said cylinder was sealed.

"His internal organs are changing but in a manner that would keep him alive while it's happening," Werner continued, "his heart is changing, but it's still beating and pumping blood throughout his system. Speaking of blood, it seems that most of his blood has begun to change as well. It's changing from the typical red human blood to the far thicker black nonhuman blood. It's all rather fascinating. He must be in a lot of pain though, so I think keeping him sedated is the best thing to be done for him.

"Speaking of sedation, we've had to pump him full of a hell of a lot of tranquilizers. His changing physiology is giving him all the strength and resilience of a prawn, hence why we've had to strap him down. I'm fairly certain he'll be awake soon since his body seems to be doing its absolute best to fight off the effects of the tranquilizers. The more we give him, the more his body resists them. Eventually they'll be useless on him."

There was a pause as Keller digested all of this information. Changing internal organs? How disgusting. Lukas must be going through hell…not that Keller cared about this too much. He was just doing the job he had been assigned to do, and that was to take Lukas, Wikus and the medical pod to the hidden facility on the border. Over there would be plenty more science boffins like Werner and they would be absolutely excited to have access to Lukas and the very fluid that had started the transformation.

"There is one other thing though," Werner said, frowning. Keller noticed the scientist's look of worry and was immediately curious as to what this "one other thing was".

"What is it?" Keller asked.

"The DNA tests prove that his very genetic make-up is changing," Werner replied, his eyes flitting down to the paper on the clipboard in his hands, "And it seems that some of his DNA structure has already completely changed into that of a prawn. Comparing these results to DNA taken from normal prawns, I've discovered something quite curious."

"Which is?" Keller frowned. He wasn't going to wait much longer for Dr. Werner to get to the point. Besides, he was hungry and hadn't had breakfast yet.

"Where his basic make-up matches that of a normal prawn, there are small differences," Werner continued, "At first I thought these differences were merely because that he's human and that the transformation was not finished and thus his DNA was not fully that of a prawn yet. However, I compared DNA taken from Wikus van de Merwe back in 2010 when he had still been mostly human and, quite surprisingly, I was unable to find these slight anomalies."

"Anomalies?" Keller was curious now, but all this talk of "DNA" and "genetics" was beginning to confuse him. He had failed biology at high school, as well as physics…chemistry…maths…

"Not so much 'anomalies' as they are 'differences'," Werner said, "So, I wanted to make sure I was absolutely right before I made any conclusions. I ran some more comparisons to normal prawn DNA and this lead me to the conclusion…" He trailed off. Keller, annoyed that the scientist had stopped just before the final reveal stepped forward.

"What have you found out, Doc?" Keller asked, "Is Lukas Farber a special case, even for a hybrid?"

"You could say that," Werner said, "I'm thinking that the fluid in that medical pod that he was exposed to was far more volatile than what Wikus van de Merwe was exposed to. Since the same fluid that turned Mr. Van de Merwe into a prawn was used to power the alien ship, I'm assuming that it was in some sort of refined form, much like how oil is refined into gasoline…"

"Go on…" Keller was thinking he might already know what Werner was getting at but he decided to let the doctor deliver his conclusion without interruption.

"Whereas the fluid in the medical pod is some sort of 'pure' form, far more powerful than anything used to power an alien ship," Werner said, "Not only that, but I've consulted Theodore Van Wyk, our resident prawn expert, on the matter. He and I have reached the conclusion that Lukas has been exposed to some sort of 'royal jelly'…"

"What the fuck?" Keller said bluntly upon hearing this. "Royal jelly? What the hell is that?"

Werner sighed, unable to quite fathom why he was bothering to discuss this all with a typical mercenary.

"Okay, take a typical bee hive, right?" Werner said. Keller nodded, listening carefully. "Well, the bees have their queen, don't they?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, if another queen is needed, the bees use royal jelly to turn another typical bee into a queen. Or take the example of the caterpillar cocooning itself to become a butterfly…"

"Hang on," Keller said somewhat incredulously, "Are you saying that Lukas Farber is turning into some sort of goddamned prawn 'queen'?" Keller shook his head, unable to believe it. "What a load of bullshit…"

"I wouldn't say he's turning into a 'queen'," Werner said, somewhat flustered at Keller's reaction, "but I would think that he's turning into some sort of 'leader'. And, if this is correct, the implications could be disastrous. The prawns, for starters, came to our planet without any leadership. They work as a sort of hive mind and without someone commanding them most prawns are simply stupid. Of course, there are those higher-ups like Christopher Johnson, the ones that can do their own thinking but aren't really boss of anything. The majority of the prawns on Earth are the workers, if you might call them that, forced to live aimless lives without the presence of a leader.

"I would think that a prawn leader would be able to command entire hordes of lesser prawns quite easily through the use of pheromones, or even telepathy," Werner continued, "And the only reason the prawns have been so easy to control is because they lack leadership. If they were to suddenly gain a leader like Lukas Farber, the results could be disastrous…"

Keller nodded. Now he understood, even if it was all a bit past him. Lukas Farber wasn't turning into any ordinary prawn but a sort of "leader" prawn, one capable of commanding the hordes of workers with ease. And with a leader, the prawns would suddenly become a lot smarter and far more coordinated. It was something that could not be allowed to happen as both men knew.

"So, uh…You're going to dissect him before the transformation's complete?" Keller asked.

"Most likely, as we need to determine what factor allows him to operate the alien technology," Werner replied.

"And that means he won't become this sort of 'leader' then?"

"Exactly. We can't let the transformation finish…things could be disastrous if he managed to escape."

Keller nodded. A full blown revolution under the leadership of some sort of "leader' prawn was something that would have to be prevented at all costs. That meant security around Lukas Farber would have to be tight, especially on the train.

"It's alright if I post a few of my men on duty here?" Keller asked.

"That's fine, just as long as none of them smoke," Werner replied, "Besides, I think a few guards _are_ needed. There's no telling what the subject will do when he wakes up. He'll struggle, that's for sure…and with the strength of a prawn, he'll be quite hard to subdue."  
Keller nodded. With this thought in mind he flicked on his radio, speaking into it in an even tone.

"Samuel, Kyle…get the fuck to the laboratory carriage. You're both on guard duty," Keller ordered. With that said he switched off the radio, turning his gaze back to Werner.

"This whole business with Lukas Farber has me intrigued," Keller said, "so I want you to keep me posted if anything new comes up. In the meantime, I'm going to head on over and get myself something to eat at the bar area."

Werner watched as the Colonel left before returning to his work, removing a syringe from a nearby bench and taking another blood sample from one of Lukas Farber's affected areas.

Keller headed out of the laboratory car and into the next carriage which served as a sort of control room for the train. The train had been constructed to work as a sort of mobile headquarters, operating on solar power which is stored in large power cells across the length of the train, these cells being connected to solar panels on the roof of the train itself. There were numerous technicians seated within the narrow control room, manning computers and assorted panels. None paid much attention to Keller as he filed past and into the next carriage, this particular carriage serving as an armoury. Racks filled with assorted firearms hung on the walls while some of the more heavy duty equipment was locked up in boxes.

The next carriage was the first passenger section, furnished with expensive brown leather chairs with a television at the far end. A small set of stairs lead up to the carriage's other level. There were several mercenaries and technicians hanging around here, preparing to get settled for the lengthy trip. Keller went on to the next carriage where the bar was, pondering over what he had learnt as he ordered a stiff drink.

Lukas Farber was to become a prawn leader…How curious. And to think that Keller had some of the volatile alien fluid in a canister with him…Even more curious. He wasn't sure what he would do with it but he was sure he could think of something. Selling it seemed like a bit of a cop out but he sure as hell didn't want to end up in a similar state as Lukas was. And so he continued to ponder on the matter as the bartender returned with the drink he had ordered, the Colonel unable to come to a conclusion. He did remove the cylinder from his vest, if only to look at it and ponder. It was sealed inside a plastic bag, and if he was not mistaken, there was some of the black fluid leaking into the bag. It was only very miniscule amounts, so miniscule that Keller failed to notice them. He put the bag plastic bag and cylinder back into his vest and continued drinking.

* * *

The train station itself was located outside of the town of Carletonville, a smaller city some distance south-west from Johannesburg and a short drive from the Soweto township. Most of the surrounding landscape was open plains, with yellow desert savannah rolling on over small hills and around rock formations. The sun was beginning its steady ascent into the sky and there seemed to be not a single cloud to get in its way. It would be another hot day in this part of South Africa, something that was certainly not a surprising development.

The train station was surrounded by a high wire fence, one that had rusted in places and had seen its fair share of break-ins and break-outs. There was a sizeable hole on the east fence, cut through it years before by some young hoodlums who had gone on to graffiti the walls of the station's building. The station itself was just another MNU asset, one that hadn't seen much use until today.

Numerous MNU vehicles were parked within the station's parking lot while many assorted MNU personnel, ranging from armed mercenaries to lowly maintenance people, milled around going about their own business. There were about three large buildings that made up the station, including the large main building which was built from a mostly dull grey mix of stone and metal and then there were two smaller buildings, both short brick and mortar structures. It was near one of these structures that the hole in the east fence was located and near this hole, lying amongst the long grass was the nineteen year old prawn known as Vincent Matheson.

He lay in the grass, looking across the parking lot from his slight vantage point. The train that was parked on the tracks that ran straight through the station appeared to be a rather modern looking affair, complete with a typically sleek silver-grey design. The MNU insignia was printed on the sides of all the carriages, making it obvious that the train belonged to the large corporation.

About five minutes ago Vincent had watched as Wikus and Iris had been escorted into one of the rear carriages, presumably in order to be locked up. It was those two that were the reason Vincent was here, and he had been forced to persuade Linda in coming along. He hadn't wanted to leave her behind out in the countryside somewhere, especially when MNU had been after them both. Still, she had been rather reluctant to come on what she had deemed as a "suicide mission" but Vincent was determined to rescue Wikus and Iris. He wasn't too sure what the fates of Michael and Carl were but it seemed safe to assume that both of those prawns were dead.

Losing MNU had taken some effort but the two of them had had the whole countryside to hide in. When the heat on them had suitably decreased the pair had ventured forth from their hidey-hole in the countryside and returned to the silver four door they had abandoned a few kilometres outside of District 10. It had been the one that the pair had stolen from the businessman back at the service station early the day before. Conveniently enough no one else had found it parked out in the sun but the fuel tanks had been somewhat low. The fuel had lasted them up until a few kilometres outside of Carletonville when the car had conked out, leaving them to walk the rest of the distance.

Finding out where Wikus and Iris were being taken hadn't needed much effort. All Vincent and Linda had needed to do was follow in the wake of the MNU convoy that had departed some time after they had apprehended Wikus and Iris. Linda had kept their car a fair distance from the rear of the convoy, pulling it to the side of the road when the fuel tank had finally depleted. From there it had taken simple deduction to find the MNU train station and the sighting they had had of Wikus and Iris getting loaded on board the train had proved their deductions correctly.

With Vincent was Linda and she was crouched only a short distance behind him, a rifle clasped in her hands as she kept watch from behind in case anyone tried to sneak up on them. She seemed to be casting a rather doubtful gaze upon the prawn, somewhat against the whole idea of a rescue.

Vincent wasn't sure how he would go about getting into the station and on board the train but he was sure he would work something out. He had a Popleekwan-built arc cannon with him and with that sort of firepower he felt somewhat more confident. What had happened last night hadn't surprised him too much since MNU always seemed to find who they were looking for, regardless of how well that someone managed to hide. MNU had plenty of resources to organize large scale searches and there was a possibility that they were close to determining where he and Linda were now…hence the reason why the pair would have to act fast if they were to rescue Wikus and Iris.

"So…you see what I mean now?" Linda asked from behind, "It's a suicide mission. They have this place locked down tight."

Vincent turned around, looking at Linda and trying to work out what she was thinking. There was no doubt that she was quite adamant in her stance that this would be a pointless and dangerous exercise. Vincent wasn't about to let Wikus and Iris get dragged off to some MNU facility and dissected. Linda didn't know them like he did.

"I can understand your loyalty to your friends," Linda said, her voice taking on a more reassuring tone, "But this isn't our fight. We should leave…We're already in enough trouble as it is. Trying to board that train will only cause more trouble."

"I'm not leaving Wikus, or Iris," Vincent said simply and he wanted to leave it at that. Either Linda was with him or not. He would prefer that she stayed by his side, primarily because of the protectiveness he felt over her. He loved her and he didn't want her to leave him.

"Suppose we manage to rescue them," Linda replied, "Where are we going to go then? MNU will be out to get us, especially if Wikus is with us. Leaving the country will be impossible, that's why I suggest we leave it now when we still have a chance to."

Vincent could only give the prawn equivalent of a frown when he heard this suggested. Leave the country? As in, leave South Africa? He was a prawn…where could he possibly go? Linda wouldn't have any trouble in going to another country, but it was an entirely different matter in regards to himself.

"I'm a prawn," Vincent said, "How can I leave the country without attracting attention? As well as that, do you have any particular place to go to in mind?"

"We go to Lesotho," Linda replied, sounding as if she had had this idea in her mind for some time, "You know where Lesotho is, don't you?"

Vincent shook his head.

"No, I don't," he said.

"Well, to put it simply it's a sort of 'country within a country'. Lesotho is a small independent nation almost smack-bang in the middle of South Africa. We go there and hideout for a while, that way your presence won't be such an oddity. I can present myself as the nonhuman rights worker I am and that you're my nonhuman campaign partner."

"You have this all planned out, don't you?" Vincent asked. He was only marginally impressed and slightly disheartened. Did Linda seriously have that much doubt in his plans to rescue Wikus and Iris that she was already planning some sort of way out?

"Yes, I do," Linda replied, smiling somewhat proudly, "So, why don't we just leave while we have a chance? There's nothing we can do for your friends…"

"I'm not leaving them in the hands of MNU," Vincent replied. He noticed Linda's annoyed grimace when he said this but he didn't care what she thought. He wasn't going to leave Wikus and Iris to a gruesome fate in an MNU laboratory.

"We're going to board that train," Vincent said, "And if you believe in the freedom of my race as much as I do, you'll be wanting to do the same."

"I don't see the point in getting killed over it," Linda said, "And I'm no soldier. Neither are you, in case you haven't realized…"

"But without Wikus, the resistance is practically nothing…"

Some distance down the fence was the main gate, guarded by a few armed guards. A truck had pulled to a halt at the gate and it was with that truck that Vincent saw a somewhat subtle way into the station. Without giving Linda a chance to reply to what he had said he stood up, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her along as he ran for the cover of a dry shrub by the side of the road that went up to the gate. Neither of the two guards here could see them and both had set their attention onto the recently arrived cargo truck.

"I don't want to be a part of this…" Linda began but she was silenced when Vincent grabbed her arm again and stood up, bringing her up with him.

Vincent ran across the road, stopped behind the halted truck. A quick glance into the cargo section revealed nothing but a lot of wooden crates so he quickly climbed inside, pulling Linda along with him. She didn't protest, especially since any sort of loud noise would get them discovered. Her yelling and swearing loudly would most certainly get the attention of the driver of the truck who was visible through a grating at the end of the cargo section.

"You're a part of it," Vincent said quietly as he closed the truck's rear flap behind them. Linda sat herself down on a nearby box, her face one bearing contradictions: she didn't want to be a part of this desperate rescue mission, yet at the same time she did.

Vincent sat by the flap, arc cannon at the ready as the truck started forwards again. It headed into the station, carrying with it two passengers that had only just got on.

"I swear Vincent, if we end up in some sort of big shootout…" Linda started but trailed off, completely uncertain as to what she would do to the prawn if the aforementioned situation occurred. Vincent would have smiled if he could, but being a prawn made such an expression a little difficult to portray. Still, the pleased pheromones he emitted would have said enough except that Linda, being human, couldn't detect them.

"Don't worry," Vincent said, "I'll protect you. Just hide behind me and you'll be fine."

"I feel so safe," Linda said, her tone one of deadpan sarcasm. Even so, Vincent couldn't help but feel excited when he thought about what might happen when they were inside the station and on board the train. And he was serious about letting Linda hide behind him: she seemed so determined to get out of the firing line but yet she carried a rifle with her. Carrying a rifle seemed like another way of asking for trouble.

The pair fell silent as the truck trundled along into the station's parking lot, stopping near a few other similar looking trucks. Vincent held his arc cannon tight, his heart leaping as he heard the driver's side door open as the driver emerged, slamming the door shut behind him. What Vincent did next would require precision timing and flawless execution. That's why he stepped out of the trunk and smacked the butt of his arc cannon into the driver's face as he walked past, sending him onto the ground with a broken nose. Taking a quick look around, the vicinity seemed devoid of MNU personnel. All Vincent needed to do now was get to the train without getting spotted, with Linda in tow.


	34. Infiltration

**Infiltration  
**A train station outside of Carletonville, South Africa  
June 12th, 2013  
0955 Hours

Things were hazy: his memories of recent events were blurry, his vision was wavering and the first thing he saw when he awoke was a bright, blurry white light set into a dull grey ceiling. The next thing he was aware of was the fact that there was a burning pain erupting across his chest, something that only reminded him of what was happening to his body. Not only had the entire right side of his face, most of his neck, his right shoulder and now his entire right arm had more or less "gone prawn" but the ever continuing transformation was beginning to spread to his chest. He could feel the alien fluid flowing through his system, appearing as thin black veins that wriggled forth from his affected areas in order to spread further across his physical form. His flesh tore and ruptured as more prawn exoskeleton burst forth, sending brief but intense pain flowing through his system. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision and recollect his broken thoughts. It was logical to conclude that he had been tranquilized, hence the somewhat numbing effects they had had on not only his body but his mind as well.

Lukas Farber's vision cleared, allowing him to gaze up at the ceiling with far better clarity. The air was cold and he could feel some sort of tough straps digging into the skin across his arms and chest. A quick glance down revealed that he was shirtless, having been stripped to the waist. He was still wearing his somewhat tattered pants thankfully enough, as well as his dirtied shoes. He took a look around to determine just where he was. As he did he tried the straps that held his arms, legs and in general his entire body onto the cold metal of what was most likely a surgical table.

_Good God_, he thought, _they're going to dissect me._

The room he was in resembled a laboratory, albeit a rather small and confined one with an oddly rectangular shape to it. There were no windows, just two vents in the ceiling and one in the wall that provided insulation to the outside. The interior of the laboratory was mostly a dull grey colour, having a very clean and sterilised look to it. At either end of the lab was a sliding glass door, both of which entered into what appeared to be some sort of decontamination chambers.

To his right stood a greying haired man in a white lab-coat. This man had his attention diverted to the bench against the nearby wall, his gaze fixed on a high-tech looking computer while he hummed quietly, as if he didn't have a care in the world. A number of surgical implements were laid out on a clean sheet upon a nearby trolley and Lukas, upon seeing them felt terror strike him in the heart. MNU had taken him into some sort of lab to get dissected and chances are he had little chance in escaping this situation.

He could remember what had happened to get him in this position: the house out in the countryside, the call he had made to his wife, the subsequent tracing of that call and arrival of mercenaries armed with tranquilizer guns… And now he was here, in a room devoid of any sense of time or place. He could have been anywhere at anytime. There was no telling whether it was night or day, lunchtime or midnight. This terrified him even more and oddly enough he wet himself, feeling warmth flow through his underwear and subsequently soaking through to his already dirtied and somewhat smelly trousers.

Where was Faith, the young prawnling that had stuck with him for this tough time? The thought occurred to him that she was probably dead or locked up in a cage somewhere, an uncertain fate ahead of her. The thought enraged him: to think that some MNU scientist was going to cut her open in some sick science experiment, it was enough to make him angry. What made him even angrier was the fact that MNU had decided to use his own wife against him, having expected him to call her and thus had been quick to trace the call. He told himself he should have known that would happen but did he listen to that wise, logic-dictating voice inside his head? No, he hadn't. He was angry at himself now and he was angry at the world in general, especially towards MNU who he saw as the instigators of his whole predicament. If everybody listened to the wise voice in their mind the world would not be such a mess and Lukas would not be in the predicament he was in now. No, he would probably be wandering the South African countryside in a futile attempt to get back to Johannesburg to visit his wife and daughter. And _then_ he would get apprehended by MNU and end up in some lab like he was in now, prepped for dissection.

He gazed at his altering form, seeing that his right arm had indeed become the right arm of a prawn. Hardened black plates of prawn exoskeleton had replaced flesh and his fingers were now claws. He had three fingers instead of four as well as a thumb-like claw that was more or less the prawn equivalent of a thumb. He wriggled the claws of his right hand tentatively, finding that they operated as efficiently as his human hand would. His brain seemed to be quite certain that they were officially part of him, a fact that registered in his mind as evidence that he was doomed to change into a prawn. He was doomed to become a stinking alien and not even a normal one at that: if Iris, that female prawn, was correct then he was turning into some sort of high-up "leader class" prawn. He did not like this thought and as much as he would have preferred to not think about it, he found that his mind refused to leave the matter alone. Turning into a prawn! Why him? And why in such a painful, repulsive manner?

His gaze went to the door ahead and his eyes widened when he saw the two mercenaries standing guard there, rifles slung around their shoulders. Both were doing their best to not stare at him and his changing form but both were finding this difficult to do. Lukas recognized both mercenaries immediately: Samuel Marshall and Kyle Berman.

Lukas tried to speak but for some reason his vocal chords didn't respond. The effects of the tranquilizers were not entirely worn off yet. To top it off he had lost most of his teeth and some sort of smaller, more jagged and more plentiful alien teeth had begun to grow in their place. His vocal chords may have been nullified from the tranquilizers he had received but he could also feel that the inside of his throat was changing, evident from an annoying scratchy sensation he could feel there. Soon his vocal chords would be changed into whatever it was the prawns used to talk, whether that be by use of vocal chords or something entirely different. And once that happened he would be left to speak in clicks and chirps, further indicating that he was doomed to live out the rest of his days as an entirely different species compared to the one he had been born as.

Finally Lukas' vocal chords responded to the commands his brain had been sending it. He croaked out a single word.

"Samuel…"

Samuel looked uneasy at the mention of his name and his gaze flitted towards where Lukas was but only briefly. Upon making eye contact Samuel turned away, pretending that this brief exchange of glances had not occurred. Lukas could tell that Samuel had been ordered to keep guard here and the man was obviously torn between following orders or inciting the wrath of Colonel Keller by helping Lukas. The engineer could see this as it was clear on Samuel's conflicted gaze but even so he spoke again, this time louder.

"Samuel…Help me…"

Samuel ignored him, turning around. Kyle looked just as uneasy as Samuel was and averted his gaze from Lukas as well. Lukas, disheartened, had his attention quickly drawn to the scientist standing nearby. This scientist, whose name tag read 'WERNER' had turned around and was gazing down at Lukas curiously.

"You're awake, Mr. Farber!" He exclaimed, almost excitedly. Lukas immediately developed a dislike for this man, thinking that Dr. Werner would be the very man who would dissect him. Lukas sure as hell wasn't about to let Werner dissect him without putting up a struggle first, however futile that struggle may be.

Lukas looked up at the scientist, a hateful scowl crossing his features. He knew he had to get out of here somehow, even if escape seemed impossible. The straps holding him down on the metal bench were rather tight and any struggle against them proved futile. Lukas decided to try and clarify a few things he wasn't sure of and that meant asking Dr. Werner a few questions even if he despised the scientist.

"Where am I?" Lukas croaked, his voice raspy and lacking its usual vitality. He sounded and felt like shit, he knew that. The transformation into a prawn was beginning to take its toll on his overall energy reserves, something that was especially significant since he hadn't eaten for a number of hours. Who knew how long he had been unconscious?

Werner smiled in response to Lukas' question. It was the sort of smile that simply made Lukas feel uneasy and it was something that the engineer had the urge to get rid of, probably be beating the absolute crap out of Dr. Werner. How he would manage to do this while strapped to a surgical bench was beyond him, though.

"Where you are is not important," Werner said, "What you are is. At least, what you are _turning_ into is. Do you know what you are turning into, Lukas?"

Lukas felt an almost uncontrollable anger flow through him. He pressed against the straps holding his arms down but none budged. For all the increased strength his developing prawn form was giving him it did not work against the tough, seemingly unbreakable straps. MNU was obviously not going to take any chances when it came to keeping him under control.

"I prefer not to think about it," Lukas replied. Who did this scientist think he was? Dr. Werner seemed to be enjoying himself in the position of power he had over Lukas at this time, something that Lukas himself wanted to rectify in a profound fashion.

"You're turning into a prawn, in case you haven't realized," Werner said, his eyes glistening in the dry white light of the lab. He seemed to enjoy stating the immediately obvious since yes, Lukas did know he was turning into a prawn.

"The thing is, DNA tests prove that you're not turning into any ordinary prawn," Werner continued, "You're turning into something unique, something…different. You're special, Lukas. You're a potential goldmine of scientific discoveries…"

"How about you go and fuck yourself?" Lukas asked, unable to help but smirk as he said this, "If I wasn't tied down right now, I would have no problem tearing your throat out. I've been through enough crap today without having to worry about getting dissected by a bunch of science geeks such as you…"

Werner was unfazed by Lukas' insults. Instead, he continued on as if Lukas had never spoken.

"You're going to provide us with the answer we need to solve the problem of working the alien technology," Werner said, "That may mean we need to dissect you, but I wouldn't be so downbeat about it. After all, you'll be giving yourself to science."

"Fuck science and fuck you," Lukas snapped. He felt somewhat cold without a shirt or jacket on, especially since the air conditioning within this laboratory seemed to be on at its full setting. A great whoosh of cold air blasted from both vents in the ceiling, one of which was directly flowing onto Lukas' bare chest. He had begun to shiver, thinking that at this rate he would end up with a cold.

"Mr. Farber, what chances do you seriously believe you have?" Werner asked, "If you escaped, where would you go? We would never stop hunting you, even if your transformation finished. You obviously don't understand the gravity of your situation enough, so let me explain it to you a bit better."

Werner paused. Lukas, on the other hand, would have preferred to have fallen asleep again rather than put up with Dr. Werner's bullshit. The engineer was quite sure about the situation he was in and he was rather determined to get out of it. How he would achieve this, he had no idea.

"You're becoming what I believe to be a 'leader' prawn, a sort of higher-up in their hive structure. When their ship arrived here, their leadership was dead, leaving most of the lesser prawns without anyone to guide them. If your transformation finished you would have all the influential power of one of these leaders. You would have the power to control the masses of lower level prawns here in South Africa. You could very well become the one to incite a full scale revolution. You have to understand that if the prawns have a leader their collective intelligence would increase dramatically…"

Lukas had heard enough. He interrupted rather rudely but he didn't care about what Werner might think of him because of this.

"I don't care about the fucking prawns," Lukas said, "Why would I want to incite a revolution for them? Besides, I can tell MNU's afraid. They're afraid of me, of what I'm turning into…They don't want the prawns to revolt. They don't want the 'collective intelligence' of the prawns increased, otherwise they suddenly become a major threat to human society…"

"There's no telling what you might do when the transformation is finished," Werner replied, "You may not want to help out the prawns now, but when the transformation starts affecting the way you think…Well, maybe you might change your mind."

_Affect the way I think?_ Lukas felt his heart skip a beat as the implications of this occurred to him. Was he actually going to start thinking like a prawn, with the same desires as one and the same beliefs as one? Wasn't Wikus an ex-human? Wikus seemed human enough, but it was hard to tell. Some of the other prawns Lukas had met seemed pretty human. The thought occurred to him that he might start having cravings for cat food and prawn females…The latter unnerved him slightly, especially since he was married. And if he had power over the other prawns when he finally became this "leader" he may even have power over the females…And if the transformation was going to change the way he thought he might even _want_ to exert power over the females. The implications had obviously been taken into account by whatever MNU prick was running this operation. Lukas remembered Richard Houser, the American who had spoken to him on the phone last night. He was probably the one who had come up with this whole operation. He was obviously a good planner as well if he had taken into account all of the implications associated with Lukas transformation into a "leader' prawn.

"I doubt it," Lukas said after some thought. Despite his verbal resistance he knew his situation was hopeless: he was destined to be dissected in a lab, probably this very one. No matter how hard he tried he could not break out of the straps that held him down.

"There's no way of knowing for sure if the transformation will change your thought patterns," Werner said, "but it's better to be safe than sorry, don't you agree?"

"Shut the fuck up," Lukas snapped back, "I've heard enough of your voice to last me a life time…"

He turned his gaze towards Samuel who was still standing by the door, trying his best to ignore Lukas and avoid eye contact.

"Samuel…You have got to help me…" Lukas said, trying to not sound too pleading.

Samuel only just looked up. The pair made eye contact again and this time Samuel simply shook his head, a gesture that sent a wave of desperation flowing through Lukas.

"No can do, buddy," Samuel said simply, "I ain't going to get involved. I'm just doing my job, standing guard here. Just don't talk to me…"

"Fucking help me, Samuel!" Lukas shouted, tears of desperation welling up in his eyes. One of his only friends within the team was turning his back on him, just because it was inconvenient to help out.

"Samuel, damn it, help me!" Lukas started struggling against the straps again, testing their strength and his own as he pushed harder and harder against them.

"HELP ME!" Lukas yelled at the top of his lungs. One of the straps at his right arm broke suddenly. Immediately Kyle stepped forwards, holding the right arm down while Lukas frantically fought against the other straps.

He was close; all he needed was to break a few more straps and he could release himself from the others. He watched as Werner started to fill a syringe with what was undoubtedly a sedative. Lukas was shouting and swearing as loud as he could, unable to quite believe that Samuel was simply standing still and pretending that Lukas wasn't even in the room.

"FUCK YOU!" Lukas screamed at Kyle, causing the mercenary to slink back slightly as another strap at the engineer's right arm snapped. Werner stepped forwards, syringe in hand while Kyle held down on Lukas' right arm.

"Hold him still…" Werner said before jabbing the syringe into the human flesh at the left side of Lukas' neck. The engineer felt a slight prick as the needle went in but even so he snapped his body away from the syringe, continually struggling against the straps.

The sedative, a rather high dose, came into effect within thirty seconds. Lukas found it increasingly hard to struggle as his muscles ceased responding to the commands his brain were sending them. Eventually he simply relaxed on the bench, exhausted as his vision began to spin all around him. Kyle took a step back as did Werner, both satisfied that the half-human half-prawn hybrid would no longer be causing any trouble. Lukas, on the other hand, felt like he could do with a nice long nap and so he closed his eyes, unable to shake the hatred he felt for Werner and Samuel and Kyle. He fell into unconsciousness shortly afterward.

* * *

One of the last few carriages of the train, just ahead of the two cargo ones, had been converted into a sort of mobile set of holding cells. There were three cells in total, all to the left of the carriage and all empty save for a single cheap mattress and chair. There was a bucket in the corner of each to act as a toilet. There were windows to the right side in this carriage, as well as vents in the ceiling that were there to bring in air from the outside. The cells themselves were fronted with jail cell-style metal bars and doors while at either end of the carriage a mercenary stood on guard. Neither mercenary was particularly interested in the cell-mates of each cell.

The cells were separated with more metal bars, allowing communication between cells but little else. Wikus van de Merwe, a large dark mottled green and burly prawn, stood in the corner of his cell, carefully peeing into the cell's supplied metal bucket. Once he was done he carefully zipped up his pair of barely fitting tattered dark blue human pants, turning around only to be supplied with a view of the train station outside. The windows were tinted so that it was possible to look outside from within but impossible to look within from outside. Thus, any ordinary passers-by would be unable to see the prawns held captive within this carriage. They could go straight through a city without attracting suspicion from the public.

_This is bullshit,_ was all Wikus could think about. He had been captured by MNU. Michael and Carl were dead, he had watched both of them get killed. Iris was in the cell to his left while that young prawnling, the one that had been following Lukas everywhere, was lying asleep on the mattress in the furthest cell. Why that youngling was here Wikus had no idea, although the first possibility that came to mind was that Lukas had been captured and was somewhere on board this train as well.

According to Colonel Keller they would be heading to somewhere on the border into Zimbabwe. Why that far was beyond Wikus' knowledge but he assumed it was to get as far away from prying public eyes as possible. A facility out in the middle of nowhere would make a good place to carry out illegal experiments.

Iris was seated on the single uncomfortable wooden chair in her cell, looking rather sorry for herself while she did it. Wikus was already beginning to regret what he had said the night before but most of it had been true anyway: he didn't like Iris, even if she seemed to have a genuine liking of him. _I'm married for Christ's sake_, Wikus thought, _I'm not about to start up some sort of romance with a prawn of all creatures, even if I just happen to be a prawn myself._

Things had definitely taken a turn for the worse after last night. If Lukas had been captured (something which did not surprise Wikus in the slightest) then maybe freedom for the prawn race was an unachievable goal. Lukas was turning into a sort of "leader" prawn and he was possibly the last hope the prawns as a race had to gain freedom, even if Lukas didn't want to get involved in that sort of thing. _Well, the dumb fuck's going to have to get involved,_ Wikus thought, _especially since it's probably the only way we're going to get off of this fucking train._

Wikus paced up and down his cell a few times, trying to see if there was any way to escape. He couldn't see any and so stopped, taking a look down both ends of the carriage. MNU had certainly been prepared in regards to the train: from when he had been loaded on board he had noticed that the train, despite looking rather ordinary on the outside was in fact equipped with all manner of differing facilities. There was some sort of main computer room a number of carriages down as well as a laboratory. Most of the train's complement of mercenaries hung around the passenger sections, probably watching television and drinking at the bar.

And here he was, stuck in a shitty little cell. Well, maybe it wasn't "shitty" but it was certainly a step down from the accommodations he had had in District 10. At least the inside of a shack or a tent could have been "homey" yet here, in this cell he had no privacy. He could have sworn that the mercenary standing to the end of the carriage to his right, a young blonde-haired man with dark blue eyes, had been watching him pee earlier. If Wikus ever got out of his cell it would be this guy he would kill first.

"Lukas is on board," Iris said suddenly, "his little friend's here, so he's probably here as well". She nodded towards the prawnling asleep in the nearby cell. She then turned her head, looking towards Wikus through the bars between them. Wikus had been thinking the same thing but, as usual, he didn't care too much about it.

"Who cares?" Wikus asked, "He's just in as much fucking trouble as we are."

"If we get out, we have to find him," Iris replied, rising to her feet. She stepped to the bars, eyeing Wikus carefully as she did.

"He's our only hope…"

"He's _your_ only hope," Wikus replied, "I don't see why I have to get involved. I'm thinking I should just fuck off somewhere and live out the rest of my shitty life in privacy. Your kind fucked it up in the first place with that black ooze shit…And now I'm in trouble with MNU again! How can the same shit happen to the same man twice?"

Iris was silent, pondering the thought. Wikus started pacing up and down his cell again, restless as his mind was full of many conflicting thoughts. Should he or shouldn't he help Lukas? And what difference would it make? Even if they got off of this train, where would they go? MNU would just hunt them down again. MNU seemed to always find who they were searching for.

"I misjudged you, Wikus," Iris said coldly, "I thought you wanted to help our kind and yet you made it abundantly clear last night that you were merely trying to help yourself. You're a self-centred arrogant bastard. In fact, you're a disgrace…to both species."

Wikus froze in his pacing, staring with wide and annoyed golden-yellow eyes towards Iris. He didn't care much about what she was saying, having expected it sooner or later.

"I don't give a fuck," Wikus said bluntly, "I was only doing what had to be done to help myself. If that meant getting involved with your shitty resistance movement then so be it. And now since the medical pod doesn't work I'm stuck waiting for Christopher Johnson to show up…_if_ he ever does show up. I wouldn't be surprised if he never returns. I doubt the prawns on your home-world could give much of a fuck about what's going on over here, on Earth. It'd probably be too much trouble to send out a fleet to check things out, to perhaps blast the whole fucking human race into submission.

"So now I'm stuck hating myself, hating MNU for all the shit they put me through and hating the prawn race in general for fucking up my life in the first place. You have to understand, that in a position like that it only makes sense to look out for number one…in this case, that's me. Fuck everybody else. The only way I'm going to survive is if I look out for me and nobody else. I learned this the hard way, Iris. You may think of me as a callous prick but I don't care: there's no use trying to fight for a cause, such as prawn freedom, when you're up against a massive global corporation that can track your every movement by satellite and can send a whole squad of mercenaries on you within minutes from anywhere in South Africa. This resistance of yours…It's a fucking shambles. It's never going to work out. Besides, if we somehow manage to get off of this fucking train where are we going to go? MNU's going to be all over us before we're a mile away."

Wikus paused, letting his words sink in on the disheartened Iris. She seemed to ponder on all that had been said, taking her time to formulate a reply.

"I can understand you're position, Wikus," she said, "But you seem to be missing one thing."

"And what's that?" Wikus asked scornfully. He was pretty sure he had covered everything.

"Hope." And with that, Iris fell silent. Wikus was bemused at the very least. Hope? What hope did they have? They were locked up on a train, probably to be carted off to some laboratory to get dissected as part of some sick science experiment.

"Regardless of what you're saying," Iris added suddenly, "I know you care about me."

Wikus looked up, his eyes meeting with hers.

"How so?" Wikus asked doubtfully.

"You talked the Colonel out of having me shot last night," she said simply with a trace of satisfaction in her voice, as if she had thought she had triumphed in some way, "If you didn't care, as you say, you would have let him have me executed."

Wikus remembered the event in question. He had just seen Michael's head get blown off, almost like a watermelon with the amount of buckshot that had collided with the young prawn's face…He hadn't wanted to see another prawn he knew get killed needlessly. Carl had been killed beforehand and even though Wikus had hated the old prawn he couldn't help but feel angered over his death. So, maybe he did care about them after all…he just didn't want to admit it.

"I didn't want to see another of you die," Wikus replied, "I had just seen Carl and Michael get killed. Why would I have wanted to let another needless death occur?"

"So you do care?" Iris asked.

"Don't be so fucking quick to jump to conclusions…" Wikus replied.

At that moment the door at the right-hand end of the carriage slid open. The mercenary there swivelled around in surprise at this occurrence but he was immediately grabbed by the familiar prawn standing in the doorway, Vincent Matheson's grip on the mercenary's head tightening. With a quick twist Vincent broke the man's neck.

He let the dead mercenary drop to the floor, the man's eyes still open wide in surprise. Vincent was clutching a Popleekwan-built arm cannon in his right claw and he brought the weapon up as the other mercenary, standing at the other end of the carriage, went to bring up his won weapon. Vincent fired just as the train suddenly lurched into movement, the sound of the wheels scraping and squeaking drowning out the sound of the arc cannon's shot. The mercenary ended up splattered all over the door behind him, bloody chunks sticking to it while some simply splattered onto the floor.

Vincent rushed into the carriage, followed by Linda. Wikus was surprised to see the pair but he couldn't help but feel somewhat excited at the rescue. The train had started to accelerate now, the familiar sounding, regularly paced _cha-choonk-cha-choonk!_ noise beginning in earnest. Through the windows the train started out of the station, gradually picking up speed as it headed out into the countryside.

Iris was definitely pleased at the arrival of Vincent and Linda as made evident by the excited pheromones she was emitting. Vincent made sure to search the body of the mercenary he had killed, finding the keys to the cell doors before he actually approached Wikus' cell.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" Wikus asked, unable to keep the happiness from being communicated through his pheromones.

"The rear carriage," Vincent replied as he used the keys to unlock the cell door. He pulled it open before handing the keys to Linda who went on to free both Iris and the young prawn. The youngling, now awake, had excitedly raced out of the cell and now stood near Wikus, looking up at the fellow prawn with noticeable excitement. Wikus tried his best to ignore it.

"Linda and I managed to track you guys here," Vincent continued, "And now, well…I thought I'd come and rescue you…Again."

"Lukas is on the train," Iris announced.

"He is?" Vincent asked, diverting his attention towards the female.

"Yes. We should find him…"

"Fuck Lukas," Wikus said bluntly.

Iris turned to Wikus, annoyed at his attitude.

"We're stuck on this train, Wikus, so we may as well find Lukas," she said, "So you should just quit being so pissed off and get in line. I'm going to find Lukas, and I'm sure Vincent and Linda would like to find him as well. You, on the other hand, can stay here if you want."

Wikus was surprised at Iris' suddenly stern reaction but didn't say anything in response. He certainly wasn't about to stay here and do nothing.

"We should go," Vincent said, "This train's probably crawling with mercenaries. If we're going to find Lukas, we're going to need to tread carefully. However, the medical pod is in the rear carriage. We should destroy it…"

Wikus could tell that both Iris and Vincent were firm believers that Lukas would bring the freedom to the prawns that they had always wanted. Wikus doubted that Lukas would care much about this but guessed he was just better off in playing along. Linda was keeping a neutral expression while the prawnling was waiting expectantly for the group to start moving. She seemed to know what was going on and she could probably understand everything they were saying.

"Iris and I will deal with the medical pod," Wikus said, "You, Linda and the little one will go and find Lukas." It sounded like a sound enough plan and everyone seemed to agree with it.

Outside, the countryside was going by at a rather fast pace. Hills, savannah, rock formations…they all zipped by at amazing speed. There were a few houses and other assorted structures while the skyline of Johannesburg was just visible right on the horizon. Taking up one of the dead mercenary's CR21 rifles, Wikus started for the door that Vincent had come through. Iris followed and the pair went on to locate the very item that had been the cause of so much trouble.


	35. Dark Territory

**Dark Territory  
**On a train heading north through South Africa  
June 12th, 2013  
1030 Hours

The train trundled along the tracks at a fast pace, the South African landscape shooting by the windows as a mere blur. The tracks winded their way across the countryside, going by cities such as Johannesburg and Pretoria but not directly through them. On board the train there were a few things that MNU would have preferred to keep out of public view, such as the alien medical pod and the prawns that were being held captive on board.

Wikus van de Merwe made his way through one of the cargo carriages, followed by the female prawn known as Iris. Wikus carried a CR21 rifle and held it tightly in his right claw, treading carefully past the stacks of boxes as he and Iris walked through the carriage. There was a dead mercenary lying on the floor near the centre of the carriage, his neck having been broken from behind, no doubt by Vincent. Both Vincent and Linda had come aboard into this carriage and it seemed that Vincent had had no qualms stealthily killing the mercenaries on guard here. There had been two, the other having been clobbered over the head with the butt of a weapon. He was either unconscious or dead, it was hard to tell especially since he was sprawled over a stack of boxes in the corner of the carriage.

Wikus searched the first corpse, taking a few spare magazines for his CR21 rifle. He had developed a reasonable amount of skill with firearms over the last few years, especially after he had gotten involved with the resistance. It came with the occupation of being a rebel since knowledge of how to handle firearms was necessary. Wikus hadn't much need to kill anyone lately, but today seemed to be a break from the usual. He stood back up once he had tucked the few magazines into his tattered trousers, glancing at Iris was stood a short distance behind him. There were a few windows high in the side of carriage behind her, providing a bright glare that silhouetted her against the sunlight. Wikus squinted as the glare fell upon his eyes.

"Aren't you going to get yourself a gun?" Wikus asked. He would feel a lot better knowing that she had one, primarily because she would then be able to watch his back.

Iris' gave the prawn equivalent of a frown, contemplating the notion briefly. She didn't seem to like the idea.

"Why?"

"Why?" Wikus repeated, shaking his head in incredulity, "Because there are fucking guys on this train that will want to kill both of us. That's why I have a gun and I'd feel safer if you had one as well."

He bent his knees and grabbed the sidearm that was holstered at the waist of the dead mercenary. He stood up and thrust the weapon into Iris' claws and she fumbled it nervously, as if unsure about what to do with it.

"Take it," Wikus said, "And don't be afraid to use it. You see any fucking mercs, you shoot them, you got that?"

"Do I have to?" Iris asked uncertainly.

"Of course you fucking have to!" Wikus exclaimed in exasperation, "Why, did you think I just gave you the gun so you could fuck around with it like it was some sort of toy? If you don't shoot them, they're going to shoot you. Getting shot isn't something I would recommend, alright?" He held up his wounded arm for emphasis. By now the injury had clotted but it still throbbed painfully.

Iris didn't reply. Instead, she gripped the pistol in one claw with noticeable reluctance. Wikus just bristled his antennae apprehensively, turning his attention to the door up ahead. This door would go onto the next carriage, presumably another cargo one. They were close to the end of the train, he could tell that much. There was no way of telling hw long they had before they were discovered to have escaped so Wikus knew he would have to work quickly. This would have been easier if Iris wasn't such a…he thought for a moment, searching for the right word. Things would be far easier if Iris wasn't such a pacifist. That was it: she was a pacifist. A pacifist prawn…he had never thought that such a thing was possible.

Wikus approached the door, pushing it open. The warm outside air rushed into his face and the countryside went by speedily. He stepped onto the carriage's outside rear platform, carefully crossing the short walkway that provided a means of getting onto the other carriage. Iris followed, treading carefully while outside in fear of falling off. Her fears were unfounded of course, especially when in comparison to what was awaiting them in the next carriage. This carriage was the last one of the train and surprisingly it was a cargo one.

Wikus pushed open the door that lead inside and was unsurprised to find the alien medical pod sitting in the centre, covered with a grey tarpaulin. A few other crates and boxes were stacked in the corners while about four mercenaries stood guard within the carriage, all four looking rather bored and talking quietly. All four looked up as Wikus opened the door and immediately the prawn had taken a step back, shoving Iris off to the side so that she wasn't standing in the doorway with him.

Wikus brought up his CR21 rifle. The four mercenaries saw him and scattered but Wikus had pulled the trigger before the four of them had had a chance to get into cover. Wikus kept his rifle's trigger held down tight, feeling the weapon shake within his grip as the muzzle flared and assault rifle rounds spewed forth. Some of the wooden boxes exploded outwards, sharp metal splinters breaking off as bullets slammed into them. One of the mercenaries spun and fell, an explosion of red erupting from one half of his throat. Bullets tore into the tarp covering the pod but were then deflected by the pod's alien metal, pinging off in different directions. A second mercenary was set flying backwards as several rounds slammed into his front, his body sliding across the top of the covered-up alien pod before landing in a bloodied heap behind it. A third mercenary, some distance to Wikus' right, had brought up his rifle and squeezed off a shot. Wikus ignored the round as it pounded into the side of the doorway, mere inches from his head.

With furthered determination Wikus swept his rifle fire across this mercenary. The mercenary spun and convulsed as each round impacted him, his Kevlar vest absorbing some of the rounds that hit his torso. Wikus tilted his aim a little and watched as part of the mercenary's face disappeared in a bloody explosion. The mercenary, bullet-riddled and dead, fell into a heap on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

The last mercenary had ducked behind a short stack of crates, raising his head and arms above the top of the stack in order to open fire. Wikus shifted his aim in the direction of this mercenary but it was at this moment the CR21 rifle clicked onto an empty magazine. Wikus took a second to realize this and took an instinctive step back, pulling out the empty magazine and tossing it aside. He pulled a fresh one out of a pocket in his tattered trousers, just as the mercenary opened fire.

Bullets pounded into the doorway and Wikus took another step back, his heart racing as some of the rounds whizzed by him with mere centimetres difference. A hot stinging pain erupted in his left thigh and he shouted, stumbling where he stood and dropping his rifle. He fell onto his knees, tumbling away from the doorway and out on the carriage's outer ledge.

A bullet had taken a fair chunk of exoskeleton from his thigh, allowing thick black blood to ooze freely from the wound. He shook his head, trying to ignore the searing pain as he picked up his rifle. By now Iris had stepped into the doorway, raising the pistol he had given her only minutes earlier. With a few well-placed shots the last mercenary in the last carriage of the train was shot dead, falling against the stack of crates he had been crouched behind and coming to rest with his head lying upon them.

Wikus rose to his feet, hobbling uncertainly on his wounded leg. Iris lowered the pistol and turned around, looking at Wikus' injury with a hint of concern in her demeanour.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

Wikus bristled his antennae in annoyance. He had been in worse pain than this.

"I'll be fine," he said, pushing past her as he hobbled into the rear carriage. He approached the covered-up medical pod and pulled away the tarp that was upon it.

What would he do with it? It was a useless piece of alien junk, no longer in working order. It had been taken off of the mother-ship years before and locked away in an MNU facility to gather dust. Through the dirtied glass-like dome Wikus could see the massive amounts of the viscous black fluid. It was because of that fluid that MNU wanted it so badly, thinking they could exploit the capabilities of the volatile fluid in order to create the armour of hybrid super soldiers they had always wanted. Well, Wikus wasn't about to let that happen. He didn't know what he would do exactly but he did know that he would have to destroy the pod…somehow. It would probably take a fair beating, being alien in design and all.

"What do we do?" Iris asked.

Wikus took a look around the inside of the carriage. He stepped over to the nearest stack of boxes, pulled open one of them and rummaged through the contents. There was nothing inside but computer discs and spare cables, no explosives or heavy weaponry…He assumed that the heavy weaponry was elsewhere, probably within the train's armoury if there was one.

He looked back towards the doorway, his gaze falling upon the very connectors that kept this carriage connected to the rest of the train. Maybe he could stall this train…If he released this carriage then the people driving it would need to reverse to get it. In the meantime he could head on over to the armoury and find some explosives. He figured that the pod wouldn't take much in the way of C4 charges to destroy…he just had no idea how to handle such demolitions material.

"Follow me," Wikus said and started hobbling back to the doorway. He stepped outside and back across to the next carriage. Iris followed him, unsure of just what he was planning on doing.

Wikus bent down and began to fiddle with the connectors that kept the rear carriage held to the next one. Iris watched, keeping quiet and having now determined what his plans were. Wikus pulled out a few of the thick cables, finally finding the mechanism that released the clamp holding the rear carriage onto the forward one. With a loud _ka-chunk_ the clamp opened and the rear carriage containing the pod immediately came free of the rest of the train, coming to a halt on the tracks while the rest of the train rushed onwards.

"That'll buy us some time," Wikus said, standing up. His wounded leg ached profoundly but he did his best to ignore it. Besides, they still had work to do. He wasn't about to let a slight injury such as that slow him down.

He started back into the train, the last carriage carrying the alien pod growing smaller and smaller as the rest of the train roared onwards. Iris followed Wikus, looking rather unsure of herself as she went. She probably didn't think that they would get through this alive but Wikus was fairly confident that they would…somehow.

* * *

Vincent Matheson and Linda Cooper had gone up the opposite of the train to where Wikus and Iris had gone. Where Wikus and Iris had gone further down the train, Vincent and Linda were heading further up the front. The pair were standing outside the door into the next carriage forward from the one where they had found Wikus, Iris and the young prawnling locked up. That young prawnling was currently hitching a piggy-back ride on Vincent, somewhat excited to be in the company of her own kind.

Vincent didn't mind the extra weight. Besides, the prawnling did not weigh all that much and he couldn't bear to simply leave her behind. She was safer with him, clinging to his back. That way, with her behind him there was less chance of her getting shot. In essence, Vincent was acting as a human shield for her. He didn't mind, especially since he did not intend on getting shot at all.

In his right claw he held the Popleekwan-built arc cannon that had seen him through most of today. It was a reliable weapon, one that he had come to have faith in. Whatever was in the next carriage he was ready for, feeling far more confident with this sort of firepower in his claws.

Linda wasn't looking as excited as he was, standing a short distance behind him. She held a CR21 rifle but, as Vincent had grown accustomed to, she did not seem to have much intention of using it. It didn't matter though since he knew he would be the one doing most of the work as they fought their way up the train to find Lukas. The engineer was the last hope of freedom for the prawns after all, even if he didn't want to admit it.

The door was a manual one and he gripped the handle, turning it. The door opened, revealing a short shower-cubicle sized space beyond. A glass door was a few paces ahead and it slid open as Vincent stepped in. Linda followed, taking a careful look around at their confined and strangely grey and sterile looking surroundings.

The glass door lead into a sort of small chamber which had another glass door ahead. Beyond this next glass door Vincent could see some sort of laboratory, complete with a surgical table, computers and a trolley covered with surgical implements. There was no doubt in his mind that experiments had been carried out on members of his race within this laboratory and the thought repulsed him, as well as angered him.

Upon the surgical table lay Lukas Farber, barely conscious and lolling his head around in a drowsy state. They had sedated him no doubt, probably because he had been struggling and trying to escape. A grey-haired human male in a lab-coat stood by the semi-conscious Lukas Farber, gazing down at the hybrid with some fascination. Even from here Vincent could see that Lukas' transformation had spread from the right of his face, down his neck and completely down his right arm. It had begun to appear across his chest, small dark spikes puncturing through the human flesh. He probably had mere days left as a human, maybe only about three at most.

There were two mercenaries on guard at the other end of the carriages. Vincent raised his arc cannon, noticing that none of the three humans in the laboratory had noticed him yet. None seemed to be paying much attention in his direction while behind him, Linda was fiddling with a control panel.

"It's not responding," She said, "It's a thumb-print scanner…I don't have a registered thumb-print. The door won't open."

Vincent took note of what she said and pulled the trigger on his arc cannon. The lance of energy smashed through the glass door, sending a shower of broken glass flying outwards. It struck the scientist, blowing him away and splattering him all over the far wall of the laboratory. Immediately both mercenaries looked up and brought up their rifles but Vincent stepped through the shattered glass door, entering the laboratory and blowing both mercenaries away.

With all threats inside the laboratory carriage eliminated, Vincent and Linda stepped over to where Lukas lay strapped to the surgical table. He had been drugged up by the look of it, wearily moving his head to look at his rescuers through half-closed eyelids. He certainly looked a little worse for wear, especially with the chunks of loose flesh that were hanging from his transforming frame as more prawn exoskeleton broke through the skin.

Linda undid the straps while Vincent found the engineer's tattered shirt and jacket and handed them to him. Lukas was still fairly drowsy, slowly sitting up but having considerable trouble in keeping himself up. He fumbled with his clothing, taking about five minutes to put on his shirt.

"Samuel…You killed Samuel…" Lukas said, his voice sounding weak and croaky, as if he was having trouble controlling his vocal chords. Vincent had no idea who Samuel was, although he assumed that Samuel had been one of the humans he had just killed. There was nothing left of them now except wet puddles and bits, as well as blood-soaked clothing.

Lukas' eyes went to the prawnling clinging to Vincent's back. His weary eyes immediately lit up and the young prawn climbed off of Vincent, hopping into Lukas' lap as he slid his legs off of the side of the surgical table.

"Faith…You found her…" Lukas said, his gaze returning to Vincent.

"Faith? Is that her name?" Vincent asked. The half-breed probably had developed a sort of bond with the youngling, having reached the extent of Lukas giving her a name.

Lukas simply nodded in response, watching the young prawn as she chirped at him excitedly. He patted her on the head before picking her up under one arm and letting her wrap her arms around his neck for support. He wavered on his legs uncertainly, the tranquilizers he had been given still not having worn off. Vincent could tell he wasn't in much of a state to fight, even if that was what they would have to do in order to get off of this train.

"Why did you come and get me?" Lukas asked, frowning.

"You're our only hope," Vincent replied simply, "Even if you don't want to be, you are."

"This is bullshit…" Lukas said, trailing off. He looked around the lab and briefly gazed at the amount of blood that had been splattered across the far wall. He frowned as his gaze went to one puddle in particular and Vincent could see that the engineer was thinking about something, presumably the "Samuel" guy he had mentioned.

"That used to be Samuel," Lukas said, nodding towards the bloody puddle. He returned his gaze to Vincent. "He didn't want to help me…And I thought we were friends. That asshole…"

"What do we do now?" Linda asked, "There's probably a whole bunch of mercenaries on their way here to check out all the noise…"

"We get off of this train," Vincent said. He stepped towards the far door, stepping through the puddles of blood and wet bits that had once been Samuel Marshall and Kyle Berman. The glass door here didn't open so without much effort he slammed the butt-end of his arc cannon into the glass, shattering the door and continuing into the decontamination chamber. He smashed the next glass door before pushing open the manual door beyond, stepping outside into the rushing air.

Lukas, with Faith in tow, followed as well as Linda. Lukas was still somewhat drowsy, almost in a state of half-awareness. He walked slowly and unsteadily and for a moment Vincent thought he might fall off the train as he stepped out onto the ledge outside. Once the group were outside Vincent started towards the door leading into the next carriage, perhaps looking for a means to stop the train. Vincent himself wasn't entirely sure how to get the train to stop but he was sure he would think of something.

Vincent was first to enter the next carriage, finding it to have one section on its right partitioned off with a sort of metal barred grating. Through it he could see three mercenaries, all of them male and all of them seated at a wooden table near what appeared to be numerous racks of guns. As son as Vincent stepped in the three mercenaries had pushed over the table to act as cover.

"Intruders! Get them!" One of the mercenaries shouted, pulling a submachine gun off of the wall. He threw it to one of the other mercenaries and then did the same for the other one. He took one of the weapons for himself and immediately all three began laying down a withering cascade of weapons fire in Vincent's direction.

The prawn dived to the floor while both Linda and Lukas (with Faith still clinging to him) ducked back behind the doorway, staying out of the line of fire while Vincent crawled around the partition. Rolling onto his side he brought up his arc cannon and blasted one of the mercenaries, blood splattering all over the rack of guns that the mercenary had been standing in front of. The other two ducked behind the table, trying to work out what kind of weapon Vincent was wielding. They were obviously a little unnerved since there was a noticeable pause in their fire, a pause that Vincent decided to take advantage of.

He stood up and blasted the table, the lance of energy blowing a large hole right through it. The mercenary behind the whole received the remainder of the shot, his entire left side melting away. He screamed and fell onto the floor, writhing about for a few seconds before falling still (and silent). The last mercenary stood up to return fire but Vincent simply blasted this guy, blowing him all over the wall of guns behind him.

With the enemies down Linda and Lukas walked in. Lukas seemed to be gradually recovering from whatever drugs he had been injected with, his walk appearing more steady and controlled. No doubt the adrenaline that was surging through his system was having an effect.

The group had stumbled upon the train's armoury, something that Lukas took advantage of by stepping over to a rack of weapons that weren't covered in blood. He had never fired a gun in his life but it seemed that he might need to start learning.

"We should get moving," Vincent said. This was seconds before the door at the far end of the carriage opened, a pair of mercenaries storming inside. Vincent swivelled around and blasted both but there were more on their way judging by the distant shouts that could be heard. Without further delay Vincent stepped to the door and closed it, moving a few heavy crates in front of it in order to prevent the door from being opened again.

"Great. We're trapped on a moving train, getting chased by dumb-ass mercenaries," Linda commented, "How the hell do we get out of this one? Because, to be honest, I'm all out of ideas."

Lukas picked up one of the submachine guns, an FN P90, from a rack. It was lightweight and ambidextrous in design, as well as being easy to operate and load. At least, this was what he had learnt from the video games he had played: funnily enough, those video games were right.

"We'll head back down the other way," Vincent said, "Maybe they'll stop the train…"

"Why?" Linda asked. Vincent didn't reply since he had no answer. None of them knew what to do and their situation was further complicated when numerous loud slams could be heard at the door Vincent had barricaded.

"We could head up onto the roof," Lukas said aloud to no one in particular. He gripped the P90 in his right prawn claw while he used his left human hand to grab a few spare magazines and slide them into the pockets of his tattered trousers.

"Where would that get us?" Linda asked.

"Well, it would stop them from forcing us down the train," Lukas said, turning around. He was feeling fairly confident now, especially since he had just armed himself. "We could go across the roof and get to the front of the train. We could get the engineers up there to stop the train s we could get off…"

"Wikus and Iris are still at the rear," Vincent said.

"Wikus is here?" Lukas asked, suddenly annoyed, "Who cares? That guy…I mean, that _prawn_ is an absolute jerk-ass."

"We can't just leave him and Iris behind," Vincent said. He was about to elaborate on why this was not an option when the door he had barricaded exploded inwards with a loud _bang!_ This was probably the result of a breaching charge, one that blew the metal door clean off of its hinges as well as blowing away the crates that Vincent had placed against it.

The group reeled back from the explosion before they started running in the opposite direction. Mercenaries began to flow into the carriage just as Vincent, Linda and Lukas (with Faith) stepped onto the outside ledge at the other end of the carriage and closed the door behind them. The group knew they would have to act fast so they started up the ladder nearby, heading for the roof. What good this would do was unknown, but they did not have any other option.

* * *

Colonel Francis Keller had been enjoying a drink at the bar in one of the forward passenger areas when he had heard over the radio that the captives had escaped. Apparently Lukas had been freed by two stowaways, something that only infuriated the Colonel.

However, he knew how to control his temper and so without much hassle he ordered the mercenaries in the passenger section with him to head down the train in order to intercept the intruders.

Marinus Venter and Sarah Taylor were with him. He told the two of them to stick with him specifically as he gathered up his CR21 rifle from where it was resting against the wall nearby.  
His radio then crackled into life once more and a concerned sounding mercenary spoke through it, delivering yet more inconvenient news.

"_Uh, sir…The rear car containing the special cargo has been detached…"_Keller froze during his walk to the rear door in the passenger section. Both Marinus and Sarah stopped as well, turning around to listen to what was being said.

Keller couldn't believe this: first the prisoners in the prison car had been freed, then Lukas had been freed and now the rear carriage containing the most important item on the train had been detached! He was going to kill all of the prawns on this train because of this…This shouldn't be too difficult since the culprits were restricted to the last few carriages.

Taking a deep breath, Keller delivered his reply.

"How far away is it?" He asked calmly, even though he had enough inner rage to punch a hole in the wall.

"_Maybe more than five kilometres by now—"_

Keller switched off the radio. He didn't need to be told anymore than this and so without delay he stepped over to the intercom on the wall, pressing a button that put him directly in touch with the engineers in the front car who were driving this train.

"Hey, you assholes driving the train," he barked angrily, "Can you hear me?"

"_Uh…yeah…"_ The main engineer replied uncertainly, having not expected a call from Colonel Keller. He was probably thinking that there was something wrong and he would be right with this assumption.

"Reverse this fucking train!" Keller shouted into the intercom, "The last carriage has been detached!"

"_We need to stop before we can reverse…"_"Then stop this fucking train, alright?" Keller shouted, barely able to contain his anger. Why the hell was everything getting so fucked up all of a sudden? He had been positive, no, make that _absolutely certain_ that with the apprehension of Lukas last night his job would be over. All he had been expecting was a leisurely train ride up to Zimbabwe. However, instead his chances to get a bulky pay-check from his superiors were being jeopardized because of some fucking stowaways. They would die for all the trouble they were causing, there was no doubt about that. He would personally kill them all.

"_Uh, right. We'll stop the train."_

Keller took his finger off of the button on the intercom, turning back around to face Marinus and Sarah. He regarded them both with a narrowed gaze, taking a deep breath in order to come himself down. Getting angry like this wouldn't help him at all, he knew this. Still, it was difficult to not get pissed off when everything was going so…_pear-shaped _(pardon the cliché).

"Let's get these fucking prawns," he said, starting for the door again. Marinus and Sarah followed. At about this instant the main engineer pulled on the brake lever, the train's wheel's screeching as it began to slide to a halt. It would be take a fair distance for the train to stop completely but once it was still they could reverse it to get back to the detached rear carriage. Without that alien pod this mission would have been a waste of time and Keller would lose his job. He did not want this to happen, hell no. And without Lukas Farber this mission would also be rather pointless. He needed at least one asset to ensure he got paid, although he was quite certain he could get both.  


* * *

**A/N:** And yes, the chapter title is a direct reference to a Steven Seagal movie.


	36. Playing with Explosives

**Playing with Explosives  
**On a train north of Pretoria, South Africa  
June 12th, 2013  
1050 Hours

Lukas Farber had not once figured that he would actually have to go on top of a moving train in his lifetime. That assumption had been proven completely wrong with what was happening today, with him forced to climb up a ladder and onto the roof of a speeding train as it rushed on through the countryside, trundling along while dozens of armed MNU mercenaries pursued him and those with him. As usual Faith, the young prawnling was holding on to him at the shoulder and around his neck. She wasn't very heavy, thus her presence did not hinder his movement.

The roof of the train was relatively smooth, with the usual assortment of slight ridges in the metallic surface. Up here the air rushed into his face, ruffling his hair and rippling through his dirtied MNU engineer's jacket. The rushing air made him keep his eyes half-closed as well as made walking against it rather difficult. Any false steps and he would very well tumble over the side, probably breaking his neck on the ground alongside.

With him was Vincent and Linda, the two who had actually rescued him. He owed them that much, he just didn't know whether the rescue effort had been worth it. They were effectively stuck on a moving train as it roared through the countryside, on its way to some facility on the border. Mercenaries flowed through the train, searching for the group and completely oblivious to the fact that they were on the roof.

The plan…What was the plan again? Lukas looked at Vincent and Linda as they started walking carefully along the roof of the train, the three of them treading uncertainly. Trains were not built to be walked on top of, that was for sure. There was little in the way of support for someone to balance themselves with so they didn't fall right off.

The plan…Well, the plan was apparently to get to the front of this train and get the engineers to stop it. Lukas had come up with this scheme after all, albeit on the spot with little thought into how they would achieve this. The easiest way seemed to be to simply kill the engineers but Lukas was no killer…Even if he carried a submachine gun he doubted he could bring himself to use it in a manner that actually killed someone. He gripped the P90 in his right prawn claw, the weapon lightweight and mostly comprised of a black metal. It was strangely rectangular in design, built for more defensive purposes than for straight offence. He had seen this sort of gun in plenty of video games and movies and thus this was part of the reason why he had chosen it. He thought he could handle it better than a full-blown assault rifle. Whether he could actually bring himself to kill anyone with it…Well, that remains to be seen.

"Hey…Are we slowing down?" Vincent said suddenly, stopping at the end of the carriage. Lukas and Linda stopped as well, Faith clicking curiously at this development.

It did not take much to see that the train was indeed slowing down. Naturally trains needed a fair distance to come to a complete halt so the change in acceleration was slight at first but was gradually increasing. It looked like that going to the front of the train wouldn't be necessary, not when the train was already getting stopped for some reason, whatever that reason was.

Without much more delay Vincent leapt across the gap between this carriage and the next, landing surprisingly gracefully on the other one. Linda followed while Lukas stood at the edge of the carriage uncertainly, trying to work out if he could actually make a leap like that. Taking a deep breath he jumped, landing on the roof of the next carriage with a dull _thump!_

The group pressed on, leaping a few more carriages as the train continued to decelerate. However, on the second leap from carriage-to-carriage Lukas misjudged and ended up landing on the slight rounded side of the roof. Immediately fear struck into his heart as he scrambled for a grip on the roof of the train. Faith instinctively let go of him, keeping herself on the roof as Lukas slid off of the edge. Vincent rushed to help him but his outstretched claw missed the sliding engineer.

Lukas still had the P90 gripped in his right prawn claw, thus the presence of the weapon made it harder to get a hold on something. However, as Lukas finally slid off of the side and gravity took over his left hand found leverage on a slight bar that hung over a large window in the side of the carriage. Hanging here with the ground going by underneath him at a fast but now steadily decreasing pace, Lukas was unable to stop himself from slamming hard into the window. The window did not break but the force of the impact left him slightly winded, yet he made sure to keep his grip on the handhold above.

Slightly dazed Lukas looked up, watching as Vincent offered an outstretched claw. Lukas knew he would have to drop the P90 to grip it, something he wasn't entirely willing to do since it would make him unarmed once again. However, his attention was diverted to movement he saw through the window he was hanging near. He gazed down and saw as three familiar figures strode into view, oblivious to his presence.  
Colonel Keller, Marinus Venter and Sarah Taylor were strolling through the carriage. They were yet to notice Lukas hanging by the window, something that the engineer thought he could take advantage of. Levelling the P90 in his right claw he found the trigger and pulled, feeling the submachine gun shake slightly as rounds spewed forth from the snub-nosed barrel at an incredible rate. He knew getting rid of these three now would probably make things a whole lot easier…besides, Keller was partly to blame for what was happening.

The window cracked as rounds punctured it before it finally smashed inwards. At the sound of the weapons fire Keller dived to the floor while both Marinus and Sarah spread out, running away from the window and into cover behind the chairs and tables within the carriage. Lukas sprayed rounds in Keller's direction but none were hitting the Colonel, instead they were blowing holes in the floor and a nearby set of tables and chairs, sending bits of carpet fluff and wood flying as the furniture exploded under the withering fire. This should have been no surprise to Lukas, seeing as he had never handled a submachine gun in his life. Terrible aim was to come naturally if he just picked one up and started shooting. This was pretty much what was happening now and before Lukas could adjust his aim proper the P90 clicked on empty. He swore loudly, realizing that it would be impossible to reload it with just the one hand seeing he needed his other to hang onto the train.

Keller slowly rose to his feet, a smirk crossing his features as he levelled his CR21 rifle. Lukas threw the P90 aside and, with his other arm now free he lunged for the next hand-hold, moving himself away from the window as Keller opened fire.

The rifle barked and continued to do so as Lukas edged himself further along the train. By now the train was grinding to a halt and moments later started to reverse. Keller stepped to the window and leaned outside of it, getting Lukas in his sights as the engineer continued to move along the side of the train.

Vincent stepped forward and fired a blast from his arc cannon down at the Colonel, missing the man's head by inches and sending an explosion of dirt erupting from the ground below. Keller ducked back into the carriage, perturbed by the presence of others on the roof.

With Keller gone for now Lukas could take the chance to calm down, gladly taking the claw that Vincent offered him in order for the prawn to pull him back onto the roof of the carriage. By now the train was reversing, gradually increasing in speed as it went. Lukas stood hunched over, trying to catch his breath while inside the carriage Keller started thinking over his next move.

"We have to get off of this train," Lukas said simply, realizing that he had just survived a very close shave with the Colonel. He could have killed the man but instead his aiming skills with a P90 had been quite terrible, unable to score a single hit on the Colonel, Marinus Venter or Sarah Taylor. Lukas had a feeling those three would be back…

His thought was cut short when rifle fire erupted from within the carriage. Rifle rounds started punching through the metal in the roof of the train, a few shooting out near Lukas' feet. Immediately the group started running, their loud footfalls alerting Keller to where they were on the roof. The rifle fire continued as the group headed back to the end of the train, bullets tearing through the roof as the group ran.

* * *

Colonel Keller paced along the carriage as he heard the group's footfalls on the roof above. With a stern expression on his face, cigar sticking from the corner of his mouth and rifle pointed upwards he managed a constant stream of fire into the ceiling. The rifle rounds tore through the ceiling, blowing small holes that allowed slight pinpoints of daylight into the carriage.

Behind him, Marinus and Sarah followed by a few metres. They hadn't joined in with the Colonel in firing into the ceiling, not that Colonel Keller cared too much since he could do this himself. He heard the group's footfalls further up the carriage and picked up the pace of his walk, continuing to fire into the ceiling as he went. Already the ceiling was beginning to bear the many-holed properties of Swiss cheese, with faint streaks of daylight beaming through into the carriage.

Today had been going well, even if it was only almost eleven o'clock in the morning. The alien medical pod had been stored under guard in the last carriage, Lukas Farber had been under guard in the laboratory, Wikus van de Merwe and his prawn friend had been locked up…Everything had been going so perfectly according to plan. Keller had, for once, been rather pleased with the work he and his team had achieved. He had treated himself to a drink at the bar a few carriages up, thinking that his work here in this shitty country was done. He could enjoy a leisurely train ride up country and get a bulky pay-check when they reached their destination. That pay-check was going to set him for life, especially with all three assets (the medical pod, Lukas and Wikus) secured. He could retire, return to the United States and buy himself a nice estate, probably somewhere in San Francisco. He could spend quality time with his grandkids, go to bingo nights and drive around the hills of San Francisco in an expensive sports car that he would be able to buy with the money he received from completing this mission.

And now those plans for an easy retirement had gone completely and utterly awry. Two stowaways had snuck onto the train, freed Wikus, Iris and that young prawnling that had been following Lukas around. In turn, the stowaways (he was quite certain that these stowaways were Vincent and Linda) had shot up the laboratory and freed Lukas. Now the group was on the roof, running away as Keller fired into the ceiling in the hopes of hitting them. He no longer cared about getting Lukas alive…the man was far too much trouble to take alive. Keller was sure that his superiors could find out what they wanted from Lukas' corpse.

"Uh, sir…What if you hit Lukas?" Sarah asked from behind. Keller paused to reload, glancing at her as he did so.

"Fuck Lukas," Keller said bluntly. These prawns…they were getting to be far too much trouble. Why didn't they just give up? The thought occurred to him that they might know the truth about Lukas' transformation, about how the engineer was transforming into some sort of "leader" caste prawn. Maybe they thought he could help the prawn race to freedom. Keller was determined to not allow this to happen.

He started up the carriage, slamming a fresh magazine home into his CR21 rifle. The footfalls on the roof went on to the edge of the carriage as the group raced back down the train again. Keller brought up his rifle and began firing, spraying bullets into the ceiling at the end. He continued to do so as he paced down the carriage, keeping his rifle aimed at this section of ceiling.

He heard a dull _thump!_ This was followed by two more and immediately he knew that the group had jumped across to the next carriage. Kicking down the door at the end of the carriage he was inside, Keller stepped outside and looked up. He caught a glimpse of Vincent Matheson, the mostly black prawn that had escaped twice yesterday: first out of the APC transporting from District 9 and again from the mechanic's garage last night. Keller was fairly certain he would not be allowing the annoying prawn to escape again and so Keller took aim and opened fire. Vincent was gone from view as he raced across the roof of the carriage up ahead, so none of the rounds Keller fired actually met their mark.

"Fuck it!" Keller shouted loudly and to no one in particular. He crossed to the next carriage, walking inside to the control room. All of the technicians here looked up as he stormed into the carriage, becoming even more startled as he began shooting into the ceiling. The group was still racing down the roof, he could hear them and so he didn't stop shooting into the ceiling until he had to reload his rifle again. Marinus and Sarah were behind him, Sarah joining in by emptying a few shotgun shells into the ceiling as well, blowing even larger holes through it.

The train had since begun to reverse, steadily travelling back down the tracks as it went. Keller knew that Lukas and his prawn friends would be getting off of the train soon so, rather than continually waste ammunition by shooting into the ceiling, Keller decided to intercept the group once the train stopped. He could hear them racing across the roof but he no longer concerned himself with trying to shoot them through it. Instead, he turned to Marinus and Sarah.

"Once we're back where the rear carriage is, we'll get off and intercept these pricks," Keller said, "They'll probably try and get off of the train, but not before doing damage to the special cargo…" He trailed off, realizing something.

"We have to get to it before they do," he said, even if the threat to the pod was not entirely immediate. Keller felt it better to be safe rather than sorry so he continued on down through the train, Marinus and Sarah following closely behind.

* * *

Wikus van de Merwe, with Iris following close behind, kicked open the door into the armoury carriage and brought up his CR21 rifle. This armoury looked like a prime place to gather explosives, especially judging from the crates in one corner labelled "DANGER: PLASTIC EXPLOSIVES". However, in the way were about four mercenaries and all of them seemed quite ready for Wikus' arrival. Judging from the icky red puddles in one part of the carriage, Wikus assumed that Vincent had been here before him.

Iris hung back as Wikus stepped into the armoury. Without hesitation he pulled the trigger on his rifle, holding it tight in his claws as he swept the withering assault rifle fire across the group of four mercenaries. Two of them convulsed and spun slightly, sprays of blood erupting forth as bullets impacted into their forms. His rifle's magazine clicked on empty as he cut down the second mercenary, leaving the other two with a chance to gather their bearings and return fire.

Wikus dived to the floor as both mercenaries opened fire, bullets slamming into the wall behind him. Iris ducked back around the doorway and out of the way of the incoming fire while Wikus went for another magazine for his rifle. He swore loudly when he found that he had no more and instead crawled for cover amongst a stack of crates, waiting for a lull in the fire from the two mercenaries.

He needed explosives to destroy the medical pod and such explosives would most likely be in this very armoury. By now the train was steadily reversing back along the tracks, probably in order to reattach to the last carriage which was carrying the medical pod. Wikus knew he would have to get to it before the MNU goons did, thus he knew he had to act quickly while here in the armoury.

One of the metal boxes near him looked like a good bet, especially since he was completely unarmed. The racks of guns were beyond the metal partition and well out of his reach, thus he had to make do with whatever else he could find. Iris was still taking cover back beyond the doorway, something that Wikus could understand since she wasn't much of a fighter. However, he would have preferred it if she could offer him some slight help. She had an opportunity to do so since both mercenaries were reloading their rifles, preparing to open fire again.

_Why doesn't she fucking help me?_

Wikus quelled these annoyed thoughts and grabbed the nearest metal munitions box. He pulled it open, ducking back behind the stack of crates as he did so. Both mercenaries opened fire again, rounds pounding into the crates and blasting chunks of the wood away. The noise within the confined space of the carriage was almost deafening but the mercenaries did not cease shooting, instead emptying their magazines within seconds before reloading. Wikus guessed they could use up as much ammunition as they wanted since they were inside an armoury.

Wikus tore open the box and found about a dozen M61 grenades sitting inside. He was no demolitions expert but he had seen enough movies to know what these things did, as well as have a fair indication about how they worked. There was the possibility that a grenade explosion might set off every other munition being kept within the armoury but this was one risk Wikus was willing to take. Besides, with a few grenades he could take out the medical pod.

"Iris! Cover me, for fuck's sake!" He shouted. Iris appeared in the doorway, pistol raised as she began firing at both mercenaries. Wikus stood up, racing past her and back out onto the ledge. The train was moving backwards at a steady speed. Wikus had a sudden brainwave at this moment, cooking up a somewhat dangerous but no doubt effective plan. He would derail the train…by setting off every munition within the armoury. All he needed were a couple of grenades and seeing as he had about twelve of them he thought he could spare the couple needed.

He turned around, ignoring the rifle rounds that pinged off of the doorway near him. Iris stepped aside and Wikus pulled a pair of grenades out of the box with one hand before closing the box and thrusting it into Iris' grasp.

Taking a look behind them at the tracks, Wikus could see the detached last carriage some distance down. He knew it was now or never, he just hoped that Vincent and Linda were safe. The last thing he needed were their deaths on his conscience.

"Jump off!" Wikus shouted at Iris. She looked at him stupidly. Wikus bristled his antennae in annoyance at this stunned reaction.

"_Fucking jump off!_" Wikus yelled. The train wasn't travelling too fast so jumping off was a liable action. Iris, on the other hand, didn't seem to think so and simply shook her head.

Wikus sighed and pushed her, sending her tumbling off of the side of the ledge. She landed rather painfully on the ground below but a quick glance revealed that she was alright, just looking a little angry as she regained her senses. Wikus didn't care what she thought and instead turned his attention back to the doorway that lead into the armoury as well as the pair of grenades he clutched in his hands.

Taking a deep breath he pulled out the pins of both and tossed them through the doorway. He turned around as soon as they had left his claws and he started towards the edge of the ledge, jumping off of the train. He landed on the ground on all fours, unable to help but roll a few times while the train went by at a steady speed. He realized that a big bang was about to follow so he stayed low and awaited the inevitable explosion.

First, the grenades exploded. The detonations were amplified within the confined space of the armoury carriage, blowing out a sizeable portion from the side of the carriage and sending sheets of metal flying outwards, followed by a column of smoke. The explosions enveloped a whole stack of crates containing other grenades and explosive munitions and these went up in an agonizingly loud column of flame. The thunderous roar as the armoury carriage exploded left Wikus partially deafened for a moment, a thick plume of smoke and fire erupting forth. The concussion of the explosion knocked the rest of the train off of the tracks, the train's wheels sliding off of the tracks while the carriages began to sway and scrape against one another, twisting on their moorings. The front of the train was relatively unaffected, thus Vincent, Linda and Lukas (who was still carrying the young prawnling) were only knocked off of their feet.

The train began to skid along the tracks, an ear-piercing metallic shriek erupting as the wheels grinded against the metal. The armoury carriage was nothing but a smoking wreck while the carriage behind it had been blasted clear off of the tracks, rolling down the slight incline by the side of the tracks and kicking up a thick plume of dirt as it went. It finally came to rest at the tree-line, now nothing but an empty and broken hulk. The destroyed armoury carriage collided with the detached cargo carriage, both of them derailing and rolling over a few times near the tracks. The rest of the train came to an eventual halt, numerous MNU goons trying to recover from the blast and subsequent crash. Keller was already trying to determine the cause of the explosion and a hunch made him order a few mercenaries outside.

Wikus slowly rose to his feet, taking a look around at the wrecked train. He saw Iris rising onto her feet a short distance away and he stepped over, seeing that she still held the box of grenades in her arms. He carefully took them off of her, ignoring the angered pheromones that emanated off of her.

"That's why I told you to jump off," Wikus said.

At that moment a few of the doors in the sides of the train opened. Armed mercenaries began to flow out, some of whom saw the two prawns nearby and immediately opened fire. Wikus grabbed Iris by the arm, snatching her pistol from her grip and turning it onto the nearest bunch of mercenaries. He held the box of grenades under one arm as he ran with Iris in tow, heading for a set of boulders that were on the side of the incline near the tracks. Bullets pounded near their feet and zipped through the air as the pair sprinted along, Wikus firing a few shots at the mercenaries as he went. He dived behind the boulders, Iris following just after him.

A quick peek around the rock formation revealed that there were perhaps a dozen mercenaries now outside, all of which had become focused on shooting at Wikus and Iris. Bullets pinged off of the rocks, forcing Wikus to duck back behind as he contemplated on what to do next. The medical pod was nearby, still on its carriage but now derailed and lying on the other side of the tracks. To get there Wikus would have to cross about thirty to forty metres of open ground. This wouldn't have been such a daunting prospect if he wasn't pinned down behind some rocks.

"What now?!" Iris shouted over the noise of the numerous rifles firing.

Wikus shook his head. They were certainly in a troublesome situation.

"I have no fucking idea," he replied.

* * *

Lukas rose to his feet, somewhat dazed and with aches and pains all over. He was lying in the dirt by the train tracks, having been knocked off of the roof by the explosion that had erupted from one of the last carriages. He had no idea what had caused the explosion but it had seemed to have worked in getting some of the heat off of him and the others.

Faith was nearby, completely unharmed and chirping worriedly. She prodded Lukas' side with one small claw, wanting him to get up. Ahead, the train had come to a complete halt, some of the later carriages having been derailed. A thick column of smoke wafted from the wreck of one of the carriages, this being the one that had exploded.

Nearby, Vincent and Linda were on their feet and brushing themselves down. Lukas slowly rose to his feet, finding that the pain at his ever-changing form was more than the pain he was feeling from his fall. With his human hand he reached under his shirt, feeling a few more plates of exoskeleton break through at his chest. With some apprehension he peeled the loosened skin and flesh away, feeling an agonizing stinging pain as he did so. He dropped the flesh to the ground, breathing heavily while his eyes watered.

_I can't handle this shit any longer,_ he thought. To think he was turning into some sort of "leader" prawn…the thought repulsed him. And it made him both angry and upset. Angry because he did not know why it had needed to happen to him. Upset because it meant that seeing his family would prove to be awkward. This transformation was taking away his very identity, leaving him with nothing but his human mind in an entirely different outer physical shell. Would the transformation affect the way he thought as well? He didn't know. How could he know until it happened?  
The sound of gunfire erupting from nearby broke his train of thought. He looked in the direction it had come from but was unable to see past the train. Vincent immediately raised his arc cannon, alert now that there was shooting going on.

One of the doors in the side of a nearby carriage of the train slid open and a pair of MNU mercenaries stepped out, weapons raised. Vincent blasted both, splattering them all over the side of the carriage. No more mercenaries followed, all of the others apparently preoccupied with the firefight that was occurring behind the train.

"Let's get out of here," Linda said.

"We have to find Wikus, and Iris," Vincent replied, "I'm not leaving them."

Linda didn't reply and instead followed in Vincent's wake as the prawn started running up the steps and into the train. Lukas picked up Faith once more and followed the pair inside, thinking that they would probably all be better off escaping now when they had the chance. Besides, Lukas suspected that Wikus didn't like him much.


	37. Derailed

**Derailed  
**Somewhere north of Pretoria, South Africa  
June 12th, 2013  
1115 Hours

It did not take long to pass through the train and out the other side, Lukas following in the wake of Vincent and Linda. Faith, the young prawnling, clung to him at the shoulders and neck. She was quiet as Lukas ran through the train. The engineer raced through one side of the train and out through the other side.

Out of the other side there were several mercenaries, most of which had their attentions diverted to a rock formation up ahead, near the tree-line. The mercenaries were laying down a withering cacophony of rifle fire onto the rock formation while occasionally a few shots would ring out from near the rocks. Lukas saw that it was Wikus who was behind the rock formation, a pistol in one claw as he popped off a few shots in the direction of the mercenaries.

Vincent didn't waste any time in dealing with the mercenaries. He raised his Popleekwan-built arc cannon and blasted the nearest mercenary, firing a successive volley of shots as he strafed the energy fire across a group of the MNU goons. Each one exploded into a large bloody red splatter, showers of blood and wet bits raining down all around.

Lukas, with Faith in tow, ducked back behind the doorway he had been standing near as the other mercenaries returned fire. Vincent dived to the ground while Linda stepped back inside the train in order to get out of the line of fire. She exchanged glances with Lukas, looking rather doubtful as to whether getting into such a large scale firefight would be a good idea. Lukas just shrugged, not at all sure about this.

Vincent blasted another pair of mercenaries, barely pausing for breath as he took aim at another one. The mercenaries were scattering now, heading for whatever little available cover there was as this lone prawn began to single-handedly take them all down. Bullets pounded into the dirt near Vincent but the prawn ignored them, firing shot after shot from his arc cannon as the mercenaries ahead scattered. Another few of them were hit and promptly exploded, leaving large wet puddles on the light coloured dirt.

Lukas heard movement down one end of the carriage. His heart began to race quickly as he turned his head and saw the door at the front of the carriage slide open, two mercenaries armed with assault rifles racing through it. He dived behind the nearest set of chairs, Linda taking cover behind a cabinet as both mercenaries opened fire, their rifles barking loudly within the confined space of the carriage. The chairs Lukas had crouched behind had pieces explode out of them in large eruptions of fluff and foam, the engineer forced to keep his head down as the shooting continued. Faith chirped worriedly but otherwise kept her grip on him, surprisingly unconcerned with all the noise.

Lukas had no firearm on him so he couldn't shoot back. He glanced over at Linda who had stuck her assault rifle around the edge of the cabinet, firing blindly around it in the direction of both mercenaries. More of the chairs within the carriage were ripped to shreds while both of the mercenaries twirled and convulsed, tumbling over the furniture as they came to rest in bloody heaps.  
With them down Lukas stood up, returning his attention to what was happening outside. Vincent was still engaged in combat with a trio of mercenaries, lying prone as he fired shot after shot from his arc cannon. He wasn't hitting the mercenaries though, all three of them crouched and staying low some distance up ahead. Linda stepped out of the carriage, taking aim with her assault rifle and pulling the trigger. The rifle barked and one of the mercenaries fell, crumpling into a heap on the ground.

Suddenly, Wikus emerged from behind the rock formation holding a small round object. He tossed it in the direction of the three mercenaries, the object arcing through the air before coming to rest near the mercenaries. When the two MNU goons saw what it was they turned around to start running but were too slow, the grenade detonating with a loud _thud!_ A thick column of dirt and smoke erupted skywards, raining down all around the blast zone. Both mercenaries were knocked aside by the explosion and neither got back up.

With the coast clear for now, Lukas emerged from the carriage. Vincent and Linda headed over to where Wikus was standing while Iris, the female prawn, emerged from behind the rock formation as well. All of them looked rather tired, although it was hard to tell with prawns. Wikus saw Lukas approaching and seemed to frown, especially when he saw just how much the transformation had progressed since they had last seen each other last night.

"You look like shit," Wikus said bluntly as Lukas approached. Lukas merely shrugged. What was he going to do about that?

"Did you cause that explosion earlier?" Vincent asked, looking towards Wikus. The other prawn simply chirped happily.

"Yes. It was fucking awesome, wasn't it?" Wikus asked, suddenly rather pleased with himself.

"Not really…" Vincent began, but was interrupted.

A crack of machine gun fire from somewhere near the train sent the group scattering. Wikus and Iris were back behind the rock formation and Lukas joined them along with Faith who still clung to his shoulder. He felt like a father, carting her around with him everywhere.

Vincent dived into the ground, shifting his gaze towards the train carriages up ahead. There were a few mercenaries firing their weapons from the windows, spraying rounds all along the rock face and near where Vincent was lying. Vincent returned fire, blowing one of the mercenaries out all over the side of the carriage.

"We have to get to that pod before they do," Wikus said. He turned to Lukas, managing the prawn equivalent of a frown.

"Why?" Lukas asked, but he knew why. MNU would exploit the device, especially the strange viscous black fluid that had put Lukas in his predicament in the first place. "You said it could help me…"

"Not if it doesn't fucking work," Wikus snapped, "No, we have to destroy it. Letting MNU keep it…that would be fucking bad, you know?"

"How does that affect us?" Lukas asked. He couldn't work out why Wikus was so determined to see this thing through, although it seemed a safe bet that the prawn was just that…determined. Determined to see something through when he didn't have to. This was undoubtedly the sort of quality that Lukas would have expected of someone like Wikus.

"Because it just fucking does!" Wikus exclaimed, annoyed now. "Why the fuck do you have to ask so many stupid questions?"

Lukas sighed. He ducked as a few rounds skimmed the top of the rock formation. Vincent was still firing, blowing holes into the side of the carriage up ahead and making the mercenaries inside duck back into cover. Linda was lying prone nearby, spraying rifle fire at the carriage.

"How are we going to destroy it?" Lukas asked. A thought occurred to him, one that he knew he would have to see through. This alien medical pod or whatever it was had caused him to fall into this predicament. It had been what had started the transformation in him in the first place and it could very well be considered the very object that had effectively ruined his life.

Wikus revealed that he was carrying a large metal case. He opened it, showing off the nine grenades that were inside. He had probably found that in the armoury, Lukas thought, and then he had decided to blow up the whole armoury. It seemed like a waste, but Lukas thought against saying this aloud.

"With these," Wikus said simply.

"I'll destroy it," Lukas said. It was more on impulse than on genuine thought but he knew that deep down, it was what he wanted to do. He wanted to destroy the very thing that had ruined his life. It occurred to him that implied that he was resigned to his fate to transform into some sort of prawn "leader". Maybe he was resigned to it, he didn't know.

Wikus seemed to scoff when he heard the suggestion. He obviously didn't have much confidence in the engineer.

"Why the fuck would I entrust that sort of task to you?" He asked, "You're a fucking half-wit."

Lukas was unfazed by the insult. He contemplated what else he could do, noticing that Iris had been listening closely to the conversation from where she was crouched near Wikus.

"We need you, Lukas," she interjected, "We need you alive. You're our only hope…"

"Fuck him," Wikus snapped, "Just because he's turning into some sort of leader, it doesn't mean shit. He's not your 'only hope'. He's not some sort of fucking 'chosen one', alright?"

"Where's the medical pod?" Lukas asked. He was already formulating a sort of plan in his mind, but it was definitely one Wikus would disapprove of. Hence why he needed to get Wikus out of the way somehow, just not by killing him. Lukas didn't have any reason to kill any of these prawns, even if Wikus was an obvious jerk-ass.

"It's in the very last carriage," Wikus said, "I detached it earlier, that's why they reversed the train. Why?"

Lukas didn't reply immediately. Instead, with his right prawn claw curled into a fist, he struck Wikus across the face. The force of the blow was enough to send Wikus slumping against the rock face, completely unconscious. Iris chirped with surprise, shooting Lukas what he read as an aghast gaze.

"Take her," Lukas said. He pulled Faith off of him, ignoring the young prawn's protests as he handed the youngling to Iris. She took him in her arms carefully, trying to work out what Lukas was doing.

Lukas picked up the box of grenades that Wikus had been carrying and still had gripped in his claws. The engineer figured he knew how to handle a simple grenade, he just needed to get past the mercenaries that were between him and the last carriage which contained the pod. He saw that Wikus had a Beretta pistol gripped in his right claw and so Lukas pried it from the unconscious prawn's grasp, taking it up in his own right claw.

"Where are you going?" Iris asked. Faith looked towards Lukas with a solemn gaze, her eyes wide as she tried to work out where Lukas was going.

"I'm going to blow up that medical pod," Lukas said, "It ruined my life so I think I should deliver some payback to it, you know? When Wikus here wakes up you should all start making a run for it, into the countryside. MNU will be more concerned with catching me rather than you."

"You'd sacrifice yourself over this?" Iris asked, incredulous.

Lukas shook his head. Death wasn't really on his mind, in fact it was the last thing he was thinking about.

"Nobody said anything about sacrifice," Lukas said. He looked at Faith and reached out with his left hand, patting her on the head. "I'm pretty determined to stay alive, actually. So, I'll be back."

He turned around and stood up, leaving the unconscious Wikus behind while Iris and Faith watched him leave. Ahead, Vincent and Linda were still lying prone and firing at the mercenaries in the windows of one of the carriages up ahead. Lukas raised the Beretta pistol and fired a few shots as he started running across the open ground. He watched as one of the mercenaries disappeared from view, a spray of blood erupting forth as he fell.

Lukas climbed back into the carriage he had emerged from only minutes before. He was not sure on how to approach the situation: he could get to the last carriage from outside but that would leave him exposed to anyone who might decide to start shooting at him through a window or something. He could go through the inside of the train and fight his way through hordes of mercenaries. Either approach had its risks and so, gathering up every last ounce of courage he could find, he started through the inside of the train.

The door ahead opened up and he went on to the next carriage. The door into this carriage was locked so, summing up some strength he delivered a kick to the faulty metal door. It tore straight from its hinges landing with a dull _thump_ on the floor of the room behind. It was a surprise to find that the inside of the carriage was a sort of control room, filled with startled technicians and a few mercenaries who were busy firing their weapons out of the windows at the others. As soon as the door came crashing inside all of them turned their attention to Lukas and the engineer could only utter a startled gasp.

He saw that most of this equipment was much the same as what had been in the technician's van that had accompanied him and the rest of the team into both Districts 9 and 10. He saw a familiar looking cabinet nearby and so rushed for it, just as several guns opened fire in his direction. He dived behind a panel of computers, raising his pistol and squeezing off a few shots. The nearest technician fell to the floor, blood seeping from a few holes that had appeared in his chest. Lukas shifted his attention to the cabinet, fumbling with the latches for a moment before finally getting it open.

The day before he had delivered the alien weapon found in Vincent Matheson's shack to the technician's van. Here, most of the very same technicians were working and the very same cabinet that the weapon had been put in was within the carriage. It was a prawn weapon, operable only by those with prawn DNA. Lukas was fairly certain he qualified, seeing as he was almost halfway in turning into a prawn.

He opened the cabinet as rifle fire hammered into the wall behind him. Within lay the large black metal alien weapon and Lukas grabbed it, feeling that it was strangely lightweight within his grip. It had been quite heavy the last time he had handled it but the object's new lightness merely hinted that his changing form was providing him with increased strength. This would have to have been one of the bonuses that came with turning into a prawn.

Upon gripping the weapon he felt it begin to vibrate, a high-pitched whine sounding from it for a few seconds while a panel on the rear of the weapon began to glow a pale blue colour. Lukas knew then that it would work for him so pulling the weapon out of the cabinet, he raised it and leaned around the partition ahead.

Pulling the trigger, the weapon did not seem to recoil at all. It fired rapidly, thudding loudly with each shot which sent forth a blue-white blast, each one leaving a smoking vapour trail behind it. The first few rounds slammed into the front of the nearest mercenary, each blast simply going straight through him and leaving fist-sized holes in his torso. The blasts passed through him and the technicians who had been seated nearby, blood splattering all over the control panels as the shots blew chunks of the innocent technicians away.

Lukas swept the alien weapon fire across the whole group of mercenaries within the carriage, cutting them all down as well as the technicians within. When the smoke finally cleared there had to be at least a dozen corpses scattered throughout the inside of the carriage, all of them with numerous fist-sized holes blown through them. Lukas lowered the alien weapon, taking a few deep breaths as he tried to get over what he had just done. He had never killed anyone before (he had never needed to) and he had no idea what to think now that he had gone ahead and killed a whole bunch of people. Wouldn't these guys have had families…friends…distant relatives? Should he even be thinking about that?

He was settled: he wouldn't be thinking about those he killed otherwise that would simply strike doubt in him. Chances are, such thoughts would simply make him lose concentration and get killed. These people wanted to kill him so he would have to do it to them first. It was as simple as that.

And so Lukas walked on through the train, arriving at the last carriage that was still on the tracks before stepping outside. By now Vincent, Linda, Wikus, Iris and Faith had all gone, running off into the countryside. He was alone against these mercenaries, if there were any left. The alien medical pod was still in its cargo carriage, the carriage itself lying derailed near the tracks but still upright. He started walking towards it, determined to see this whole thing through. Why, he couldn't be sure. It was just one of those thoughts that nagged away at the back of his mind.

* * *

There were clouds gathering on the horizon. Colonel Francis Keller could see them and he could feel the cold breeze that accompanied them. Soon, rain would be here. How soon was hard to tell but this was beside the point: the one thing he didn't need to do today was get wet, especially after how everything else had gotten royally fucked up. Rain would just add more insult to an already infuriating "injury".

Still, he did have something to be pleased about. The alien medical pod, the very centre of this operation, was completely intact. It sat within the derailed cargo carriage, understandably shaken about but in one piece. Keller stood surveying it from one end of the carriage, cigar sticking from the corner of his mouth as he took in the sight with one long, careful gaze.

Marinus stood outside, keeping watch. Sarah was at the other end of the carriage, also keeping watch through the doorway there. From what Keller could tell it seemed that Lukas and his prawn friends, as well as that human woman who hung around Vincent Matheson, had started to flee into the countryside. That was of little concern to Keller since MNU would have no trouble picking them up again and dealing with them accordingly.

Keller fingered his radio, finding the appropriate channel. He heard Hermes' voice filter through the speaker, something that made him wonder what the hell that guy had been doing all of this time.

"_Uh…Who's this?"_ Hermes Kossel asked, his tone uncertain.

"It's Colonel Keller, you prick," Keller snapped, "Where the hell are you? I need a pick up. As well as that, I need you to call MNU and tell them that there's been a problem."

_"I'm in the chopper flying over Pretoria…Uh…Where are you?"_

"Somewhere in the middle of nowhere," Keller replied. He turned around, looking outside towards the tree-line up ahead. Hills and open grassland went on for as far as the eye could see, numerous trees blotting the landscape as well. There were no indications as to where in the world he was and unfortunately the GPS systems were inside the train and not in the immediate vicinity.

"_Uh…You're going to have to be more specific than that, sir…"_

"Well, I'm pretty certain I'm somewhere several kilometres north of Pretoria. Just use your helicopter's equipment to triangulate my radio's signal. It shouldn't be too difficult."

"_You said there was a problem?"_

"Yes, there is a fucking problem," Keller said, "I've got a pack of fugitives fleeing across the countryside and this 'pack' consists of three prawns, one human woman and one half-breed. I need you to get on the horn to MNU and tell them to send every available man they have to get out here in order to track these criminals and apprehend them. The half-breed is of particular importance. Make it explicitly clear to them that the half-breed, otherwise known as 'Lukas Farber', is to be taken alive."

There was a pause as Hermes took note of everything that he said.

"_Right, sir. I'll try and get in touch with them right away."_

Keller switched off his radio and stood surveying his surroundings for a moment. The train lay on the tracks just off to his right, completely still. The shooting had ceased moments before, having culminated in one last radio message from one of the mercenaries outside. He had told Keller that the fugitives were on the run once again, heading out into the countryside. Keller doubted that they would get far, especially in open country such as this.

Marinus was on patrol outside of the carriage although he seemed rather bored going about it. Keller frowned, noticing some movement up ahead but finding that it was impossible to determine what it was. Naturally his eyes widened when he saw a grenade land a short distance in front of him, having seemingly come from nowhere.

"Grenade!" Keller shouted, his cigar falling from his mouth as he shouted this. Sarah looked up and Keller dived to the side, just as the grenade detonated and left an annoying ringing in his ears. A cloud of dirt exploded through the open doorway of the carriage and Keller landed on the floor, trying to gather his bearings as another explosion sounded from outside somewhere.

Keller took out his Automag .44 pistol, rubbing one ear in an effort to get rid of the ringing. Sarah had her rifle raised but was ill-prepared for what happened next, another grenade flying through the doorway and landing a few inches away from the medical pod.

Keller saw it and stood up, jumping through the doorway mere seconds before it exploded. The carriage itself went up in a column of smoke and fire, the medical pod's glass dome shattering and sending a shower of the black alien fluid raining down all around. Marinus was knocked aside by the explosion and he didn't get back up, knocked out cold when his head struck a rock.

Rising to his feet, Keller felt an almost uncontrollable rage when he realized what had just happened. The medical pod had been destroyed…and thus went another of the very things he had supposed to have kept secure. And thus went another opportunity to receive a bulky pay-check, denying him the luxury San Francisco estate he had always wanted. Whoever had done this would pay, he knew that much.

And that's when he heard Sarah's agonized and enraged screams from behind. Keller slowly turned around, viewing the smoking wreck of the carriage. He noticed the suspicious puddle of black alien fluid that had pooled around the remains of the medical pod. He also noticed the familiar figure of Lukas Farber approaching from the right, alien weapon in hand as well as having a box of grenades tucked under one arm.

Sarah was screaming still. She was crawling away from the wreckage, her uniform soaked through with the thick black ooze. It was in her hair, across her face, in her mouth and in her eyes. She seemed to be having trouble seeing, rubbing at her eyes furiously while yelling and swearing in a rather literal blind rage.

"FUCK! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU ALL!"

She collapsed in a heap on the ground and writhed around a few times, rubbing at her eyes and wiping some of the black ooze away. Lukas stopped a short distance away from her, looking at her with a completely neutral expression. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, now that half of his face was no longer human in form.

"Sarah, you bitch," Lukas said simply.

"LUKAS! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?" She looked around frantically, unable to see him despite the fact that he was mere metres away. Somewhere nearby, the _chop-chop_ of helicopter blades became audible as Hermes' helicopter approached. Keller watched Lukas and Sarah, curious to see what happened next.

"I never really liked you, Sarah," Lukas said. He glanced quickly behind, seeing the incoming helicopter. He knew he would have to hurry things up if he was going to get out of here alive.

"Now you'll know how I feel, I guess," Lukas continued. Sarah simply moaned and started crawling away.

"Lukas!" Keller shouted, deciding to interrupt now. Lukas turned around, raising the alien weapon he held and aiming it at the Colonel.

The pair made eye contact. Keller considered shooting the engineer right here and now, especially after he had just destroyed the medical pod. Keller raised his Automag pistol, contemplating where he should put the bullet.

"I didn't think you were the killing type, Lukas," Keller shouted. For the first time in a long while he wasn't sure on what to do: Should he kill Lukas and thus lose the one chance he had of getting a bulky pay-check from his superiors? They wanted Lukas alive after all. And yet Keller was in absolutely no position to take the engineer alive.

"I try not to be," Lukas replied, lowering the alien weapon. Keller didn't shoot, not when there was simply too much money at stake. In the end it all came down to the money.

Without warning Lukas raised his weapon and fired, the blast grazing along Keller's left thigh. The Colonel grunted at the searing burning pain, falling on all fours. In the approaching helicopter Frans Jochem brought up an assault rifle and opened fire in Lukas' direction. The engineer started running, disappearing from view as bullets kicked up the dirt near his feet.

Keller slowly stood up, feeling another uncontrollable fit of rage building within him. He looked around frantically for Lukas, unable to find any sign of the engineer. Sarah had gone as well while Marinus was only just coming to, rubbing a bleeding cut on the back of his head while managing a pained grunt. The helicopter was descending nearby, a swirling cloud of dirt erupting around it as it came down. Hermes and Frans were seated inside and the former waved at Keller.

Keller stormed towards the helicopter, forgetting about Sarah and Marinus entirely. Marinus followed after Keller as the Colonel climbed into the helicopter but Sarah…well, she was nowhere to be seen. She had most likely crawled off somewhere to wallow in her own misery. Keller didn't care about her, nor did he care about anyone else. He just wanted to get Lukas and the rest of his prawn buddies, even if it was the last thing he did.

Keller tapped the pilot on the shoulder, getting the man's attention. Through clenched teeth Keller told the pilot what to do.

"Find Lukas and follow the bastard," Keller said, "He'll lead us to the rest of his group. I want to kill every last one of them…myself."

* * *

While the helicopter took off again, Sarah Taylor had climbed aboard the train and had managed to find her way into a bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror she found that her vision was beginning to clear up, albeit the eyes that she saw looking back at her in the mirror were not hers. At least, they were not the ones that she knew. They were both golden-yellow, like the eyes of a…prawn.

Lukas Farber had done this to her. She was covered with the black alien fluid…it matted her hair, it dripped down her face and it had stained her uniform. She was no longer outright angry, no…she was something else. Where there had once been rage there was a mere tranquility, as if she was suddenly at peace with herself.

She would kill Lukas Farber. And, once she had done that she would kill herself. She would make sure that she did not turn into one of those aliens, even if it meant taking her own life. In her opinion, her life would not be worth living if she had been turned into some sort of disgusting, smelly alien. She would prefer to be dead but she would not take that step until the man who had done this to her was dead. And, with this in mind she started to wash the alien fluid off of her face and out of her hair, smiling to herself while she did it.


	38. Making a Stand

**Making a Stand  
**Somewhere north of Pretoria, South Africa  
June 12th, 2013  
1140 Hours

It had begun to rain, if only at a steady pace. Above, dark grey ominous clouds loomed while droplets of water began to cascade down and splash upon the ground. The smell of moisture was thick in the air while lightning flashed overhead, followed by the occasional boom of thunder.

Vincent Matheson had been running through grassland and past the occasional cluster of trees for a while now, followed by Linda, Iris and Wikus. Iris carried the young prawn, Faith, with her as she ran. Somewhere behind the sounds of a helicopter could be heard, as well as those of incoming ground-based vehicles. It seemed that there were a lot of MNU people in pursuit of them and it was hard to tell whether or not they actually knew where the fugitives were and were simply searching, rather than pursuing.

It didn't matter. What Vincent did know was that he and the rest of this group would need to find somewhere to hide out until the heat on them died down. So far they were yet to find anywhere to hideout, instead being treated to a seemingly never-ending grassland landscape. Hills and rock formations poked up in the distance but there were no signs of any buildings.

Wikus didn't seem very pleased, angered pheromones seeping off of him as he ran. He seemed to be complaining about something, although Vincent wasn't really listening.

"I can't believe that shithead actually punched me," Wikus said, "I didn't think he had such a fucking death wish…"

Vincent could only think that Wikus was referring to Lukas Farber. The engineer had knocked out Wikus earlier, just so he could take the grenades and go and destroy the medical pod. It was generally agreed that Lukas was as good as dead and Iris, of all of them, seemed the most affected by this thought. She was quiet and withdrawn, perhaps pondering over all that had happened to them lately. After all, she was probably one of the most innocent of the group, as well as Linda. Those two had simply been dragged into it all almost by complete accident. Vincent could only feel guilty about having brought Linda into this mess but he was certain that they would survive it all, one way or another. Wikus, on the other hand, didn't seem so confident.

"What the fuck are we going to do?" He asked aloud and to no one in particular as they ran, "We've got the whole MNU Corporation on our arses…"

"We keep running," Vincent replied simply. Wikus seemed to give a rather annoyed frown when he heard this but regardless he didn't slow down, keeping in his place in the group as they pounded across the countryside. Where they were going, none of them knew. It just seemed to be safest to simply keep running and hope that MNU didn't catch up to them.

"Has anyone got a map?" Linda asked. The lack of a response was enough of an answer.

The group kept their pace up, running through the countryside as the rain started to fall. Vincent had been doing his best to ignore the continuous throbbing pain at his wounded leg but the more he ran the more it began to hurt until finally he had slowed down considerably, lagging to the rear of the group. He didn't want to appear weak to all of the others and so tried to keep running, regardless of the agonizing pain that was erupting from his wounded leg. No one seemed to notice him slow down, they were either too concentrated on their own problems or simply didn't care.

Vincent was practically exhausted from everything that had happened today. He had killed plenty of mercenaries, run a considerable distance and been shot at on numerous occasions. All he needed now was a rest and yet it seemed that getting such a thing would be nigh on impossible. Not only that but he was feeling quite hungry, another thing he doubted he would be able to rectify. Damn, he would have done anything for food…even for cat food, regardless of whatever effect it had on his system.

The others had started up a hill and Vincent slowly followed them along. Should they stop and rest? He wanted to and he supposed that everyone else would want to as well. Finally, upon arriving at the top of the hill he stopped and called for them to have a break. However, he was surprised to find that beyond the hill was a typical highway, one that winded its way across the countryside and went straight past an old looking church up ahead.

The church had seen better days, as did the run down houses near it. It was a typical size for a church, built of stone and mortar while several of its once colourful stained-glass windows had smashed. It seemed that the group had stumbled across a country neighbourhood that hadn't seen anyone living in it for some time. The exterior of the church was run down, with graffiti of all sorts covering the outer walls. There was a cemetery near it, one that was overgrown and littered with assorted refuse.

The group started towards the rundown neighbourhood, stopping by the side of a boarded up general store and under the shelter there in order to get out of the rain. The rain itself had begun to pick up its pace, falling gradually heavier as the minutes went by. There was a flash, followed by thunder seconds later. The sound of thunder seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet and Vincent found himself suitably unnerved. The day had started off bright enough and now…now it had reduced into a typical storm.

"What do we do now, huh?" Wikus asked, breaking the silence that had fallen across the group, "We can't stay here. Those MNU pricks will be here any minute…"

"What do you suggest we do?" Vincent asked, turning his gaze to Wikus. The question was met by an uncertain look from the other prawn, one that more or less spelt out his answer.

"You don't have any ideas, do you?" Vincent said. Wikus was silent, preferring to take the time to think of an answer before admitting that he had no ideas.

Thunder rumbled again and the rain began to pour, slicking the tarmac of the roads and sending a moving stream of water flowing down the gutters. Vincent took the chance to take a careful examination of his wounded leg, slumping against the brick wall and putting his arc cannon on the ground before turning his gaze to the bandages around the lower part of his left leg. The bandages were covered with dirt and one was hanging loose, so it was at this loosened end that Vincent started to unravel them. He wasn't surprised to see that the bloodied wound underneath was both smelly and sticky; with blood congealing all over it while the exposed flesh beneath erupted in pain whenever he so much as touched it. He needed some medical attention otherwise this nasty leg wound would get infected. It probably already was infected and if it was he had no way of combating the infection. Satisfied that he had learnt all he could about the extent of this injury he rewrapped it in the dirtied bandages, wincing in pain as he pulled them tight.

"I do have an idea," Wikus said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon the group.

"And what would that be?" Vincent asked doubtfully.

"We keep moving," Wikus replied, "What the fuck else can we do? Seriously, we're in a lot of fucking trouble. I can't think of anything else…"

"We make a stand here," Vincent said. He was serious about this and understandably the others shot him odd looks, as if they thought he was crazy.

"Why?" Linda asked, "If we keep running…"

"They'll find us eventually," Vincent replied, slowly rising to his feet, "so, we can run but it'll be pointless. Maybe we'll be able to make some distance but not before they start hemming us in. Besides, where can we go?"

No one had an answer to this. Vincent wasn't about to start running just so they could end up in a similar situation like this one again, just later on and somewhere else. They had nowhere to go, especially since they were all clearly wanted rather badly by MNU. What for was unknown. MNU probably just wanted some payback for all the trouble the group had caused.

"If we make a stand here there's a chance we'll be able to do some damage and lessen some of the heat," Vincent said, "And then we might be able to escape. I know it sounds like a stupid plan but I honestly can't come up with anything else, other than to run or to turn ourselves in. And honestly, I have no fucking intention of turning myself in. How about everyone else? Anyone here want to turn themselves over to MNU?"

Again, there was no answer. Iris was looking down while Faith chirped worriedly. Wikus shuffled uneasily where he stood, trying to think of something while Linda gazed further down the road, as if expecting the MNU goons to start arriving at any moment.

"In other words, you think there's no hope for us?" Iris asked suddenly, looking towards Vincent.

Vincent shrugged. He didn't necessarily think that but he was quite close to thinking it, especially since he could not come up with anywhere they could possibly go. Maybe they might have had a chance if they could get to District 9 but how far away was that? It must have been over a hundred kilometres away, requiring them to cross more open countryside. They couldn't manage that, even if they tried. They had no food, no water and Vincent doubted if he would be able to walk even a fifth of that distance on his wounded leg.

"I didn't say that," Vincent said after a moment's thought on the matter, "I was just stating what I thought was the best course of action. If you guys don't agree, you can just keep running. I'll stay here; maybe I'll be able to hold them off long enough for you all to make some good distance."

"You'd get yourself fucking killed over this?" Wikus asked, incredulous to what Vincent was suggesting.

Vincent shrugged again. He was exhausted…it was best they just hold up here rather than press on in some vain attempt to get away from MNU. The fact of the matter was, there was _no_ getting away from MNU. MNU was a global corporation and they were effectively _everywhere_. Even if Iris and the others made it out of South Africa a simple change of country would not prevent MNU from continuing to pursue them.

"I'm willing to do what's best for the group," Vincent said, "And if that means getting myself killed…well, I can live with that. I mean, I won't be able to if I die…but…you know what I mean…" He trailed off, trying to work out the best way of getting his point across.

Linda gazed at him, almost aghast at what she was hearing.

"You can't be serious, Vincent," she said simply, unsure of what else to say.

"And what do you suggest we do, Linda?" Vincent asked, "Keep running so we can wear ourselves out and get caught later on? I guess that's not so bad for you, seeing as you're human and all…but for me and everyone else in this group, getting caught by MNU isn't going to be a good thing. They'll dissect us, experiment on us. For you, they'll just hand you over to whatever human authority is interested in you and you'll probably be thrown in a jail cell. So, maybe you can afford to get caught…but I can't. I don't want to end up some sort of MNU experiment and neither does Iris, or Wikus or even Faith for that matter." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in.

"So, what exactly is our plan going to be?" Wikus asked, stepping forwards, "I personally think we should just keep running. If Vincent wants to stay here and get killed, that's his problem. Not mine."

"You're a selfish bastard," Linda said, rather bluntly. Wikus was completely unfazed by this particular remark, having received similar insults in the past.

"Life's tough," Wikus said, "I learnt that the hard way. If Vincent wants to stay behind and play hero…"

"I'm staying," Iris interrupted. Wikus gave a look of surprise but this look quickly disappeared, replaced by something slightly more neutral.

"I'll stay as well," Linda said simply. Isolated, Wikus simply shrugged and went to turn around and walk away.

"Fine, you three get killed," Wikus said as he started walking, "I, on the other hand, will still be alive to see the next day. Oh, and one other thing…"

He stopped and turned around. He was about to say something when a familiar voice shouted from nearby. The group shifted their gaze towards the hill nearby. All of them were rather surprised to see Lukas racing down it, a bulky black prawn weapon held in his hands (or, one hand and one claw to be more precise).

"They're coming!" He shouted as he neared. He stopped a short distance away and the faint _chop-chop_ of an approaching helicopter could be heard.

Vincent recognized the weapon Lukas was carrying as the one Wikus had given to him before he had left the resistance. What he was doing with that, he had no clue.

"What the fuck?" Wikus said with incredulity, "You're still alive?" He paused, remembering something rather important. "You fucking punched me, you bastard!"

Lukas took a moment to gather his breath. The sound of the approaching helicopter began to increase as it came closer. Vincent tightened his grip on his arc cannon, thinking that trouble was on the way. How right he was.

"Lukas…" Iris said simply, just as surprised as everyone else. Faith chirped happily at seeing the hybrid, even if he did look a little worse for wear.

"Did you destroy the pod?" Vincent asked. He knew that this had been why Lukas had punched out Wikus: apparently Wikus hadn't been too keen on relying on him to destroy the medical pod, so Lukas had taken matters into his own hands by knocking out the prawn and taking the grenades in order to destroy it himself.

"Yeah," Lukas said, still somewhat short of breath, "but there's no time to talk. There's a helicopter on its way here and a whole bunch of MNU goons as well…"

"And you lead them to us," Wikus said harshly.

"Fuck you, Wikus," Lukas replied, "You've never anything good to say. You're such a jerk-ass."

"And you're a complete moron," Wikus replied, "Since now you've lead those MNU pricks straight here…"

"They were already on their way here," Lukas interrupted, having had quite enough of Wikus' attitude, "I've just lead the helicopter here. They were going to get here, regardless of what I or any of us did." He paused and took a look around, surveying their surroundings with a discerning eye. There wasn't much to work with, but his gaze did fall upon the church.

"Our best chance is with the church," Lukas stated. Rising over the hill was the helicopter and with it, Frans Jochem leaned from the side and began to open fire with his automatic rifle.

Immediately the group scattered, spreading out but starting on their way to the church. Bullets pounded the tarmac near Vincent's feet as he sprinted for the building, falling over as his wounded leg erupted into intense pain. He squealed in a rather pitiful manner and immediately hated himself for it: it was a display of weakness. He did not want to appear weak in front of the others.

He turned around and watched as the helicopter hovered over the tops of the buildings behind him. There was a human taking careful aim with some sort of large rifle. It was hard to tell whether he was taking aim towards him or at someone else.

Vincent saw that his arc cannon had fallen from his grip during the tumble he had taken. Ahead he could see Linda racing back to help him up. He shook his head, yelling at her to keep moving for the cover of the church ahead.

That was when there was a faint _crack!_ It was perhaps from a suppressed rifle of some sort for the noise was certainly less in volume than an ordinary rifle. The noise echoed throughout the open air, the falling rain amplifying its sound. Linda had been running towards him at that moment and now Vincent watched, eyes wide as a cloud of blood erupted forth from her chest. She tumbled and fell mere metres ahead of him, her rifle clattering along the pavement. Blood seeped out of her chest wound while Linda herself managed one last, weak tilt of her head. Her eyes remained open and glassy and one arm reached out to Vincent before falling still.

Struck with overwhelming despair Vincent fought to stand up. To his right about three MNU APCs had started to pull up, groups of armed MNU mercenaries flowing out of them. For the first time in his life since he had witnessed his father's death Vincent had begun to weep. He yelled out in pain as his wounded leg erupted into agony as he rose to his feet but still he pressed forwards, falling to his knees by Linda's body and holding it in her claws. There was no sign of life in her, her eyes open and lifeless. Blood stained the front of her shirt and dribbled onto Vincent. The only thing the prawn could do was kneel and watch her for a very long time, alien tears dripping from his golden-yellow eyes. The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the inner agony he was feeling, the agony of witnessing the one he loved die in such an abrupt and unexpected manner. He should have protected her, he should have known that this might happen…And yet she had died trying to help him up, having not quite made it to him before the fatal bullet struck her in the heart.

Vincent used one claw to carefully close her eyes. He looked up, his gaze narrowed as he took in the sight of the helicopter. He lowered Linda's body onto the rain slicked road and rose to his feet. Again his wounded leg seemed to scream at him to stop putting weight on it. Unsteadily he started walking for his fallen arc cannon, completely ignorant of the fact that there were at least two dozen mercenaries now at the far end of the street. They didn't matter to him, not now. He no longer cared about anything other than enacting vengeance on those who had killed Linda.

* * *

Up in the helicopter, Colonel Francis Keller watched impassively all that occurred on the ground below. Lukas, Wikus and Iris (along with the smaller prawn that she was carrying) had begun to race for the church, jumping the fence around its perimeter. Hermes Kossel, expert marksman, was seated near the Colonel and had just finished delivering a precision shot with his suppressed Tango-51 rifle. Linda Cooper had been gunned down and all Keller could utter was a satisfied grunt.

Frans Jochem was busy reloading his CR21 rifle while Marinus Venter sat nearby, rifle in his lap and straight expression on his face.

Keller was contemplating what to do with Lukas. Should he kill him? He would certainly feel very satisfied if he did. Then again, such an act would deny Keller his bulky pay-check. His superiors wanted Lukas alive, not dead. They could determine more from his transformation if he was still breathing and not a cold corpse.

Keller patted Hermes on the shoulder whilst watching as the APCs pulled up at one end of the small neighbourhood. Two dozen MNU mercenaries, all of them armed and decently trained, began to storm out of the vehicles. They would surround the church and Keller and Marinus would move in, probably with some of the mercenaries. They would attempt to apprehend both Wikus and Lukas as well as kill Iris and that irritating young prawn that hung around with the group of fugitives.

"Nice shot," Keller said, blowing on his cigar, "Now finish the other one and we can set this chopper down."  
Hermes simply nodded, taking aim at Vincent Matheson who had somewhat stupidly stood up in the middle of the road. He would be an easy target for a marksman such as Hermes Kossel, Keller was confident about this.

Outside, it continued to rain. The day had suddenly turned into a rather miserable one weather-wise, as if God himself wasn't too pleased with the events that were transpiring here.

_Oh well,_ Keller thought absently, _God can't approve of everything. He's a fussy guy, that God fellah._

* * *

Vincent stepped over to where the arc cannon lay, bending over to pick it up. He was neither full of rage or despair…instead, there was something else he could feel. He was completely controlled and somewhat at ease with himself and everything around him. All he could feel was…tranquility. Absolute tranquility. Complete and utter serenity. Yes, that was it…complete serenity.

The rifle that Hermes Kossel held fired again. A burning pain erupted at Vincent's jaw, one that seemed to bore right into his very being. Dazed and confused he feel to his knees, howling in agony as thick black blood flowed freely from his mouth. Putting one claw there he could feel that a hole had been blown straight through his jaw, leaving gaping wounds at either side of his face. Blood dripped from it in rather copious amounts while agony seemed to take up his whole head and bore right into his very being. The feelers that had hung over his mouth were gone, leaving him feeling rather…strange. For some reason he was finding it hard to focus on anything in particular.

With his right claw he felt along the rain slicked tarmac, taking a moment or two to get a grip on his arc cannon. Taking a deep breath, something which was rather difficult for him now, he raised the weapon and pointed it towards the helicopter.

The helicopter had turned sideways so that Hermes had a better shot at him through the side. He could see the humans seated inside, including the one known as "Keller". However, his aim went straight to Hermes as he knew that it had been this human who had killed Linda.

Hermes didn't seem at all concerned with Vincent's weapon wielding and instead fired another shot with his Tango 51 rifle. This one struck Vincent in the chest, sending another almost unbearable pain flowing through him. Vincent stumbled and fired at the same time, the arc of blue-white energy slamming into the human seated near Hermes. Frans Jochem exploded all over the interior of the helicopter, covering the other occupants and causing the pilot's concentration to momentarily lapse. The helicopter wavered slightly where it hovered before it began to ascend in order to get out of Vincent's line of fire.

Vincent tried to breathe but found this difficult, as if the air was leaving him through the wrong hole. His strength had all but gone and his vision had blurred, but even so he adjusted his aim at the helicopter and fired his arc cannon once more. With a satisfying splatter Hermes Kossel exploded, literally painting the inside of the helicopter red. Again the pilot's concentration lapsed as blood covered the entire front window, obscuring the outside view.

To his left, several of the mercenaries had started to charge towards him. Vincent shifted his aim towards these oncoming foes, firing recklessly as they approached. He blew away two of them before the others opened fire, several rifle rounds tearing through him. The pain was almost too much: bullets pounded through his exoskeleton with ease, one of them blowing through his neck while numerous others put holes in his stomach and chest. He collapsed into a pool of his own black blood, gargling loudly and riddled with bullet holes. The mercenaries continued to fire into his corpse as they approached in order to make sure he was dead, a few rifle rounds blasting away part of the prawn's head. Vincent was dead seconds later.

* * *

Keller wiped the blood away from his face, noticing Marinus' rather repulsed grimace as he did the same. The whole inside of the helicopter was more or less covered in blood and wet bits of what had once been Frans Jochem and Hermes Kossel. Keller and Marinus were covered in it and reeked of the stuff while the pilot struggled to make out anything through the blood that was all over the front canopy.

Keller composed himself, this incident furthering his determination to get Lukas. Dead or alive, it didn't matter: he would carry out whatever option was more convenient. He pulled out his Automag .44 pistol, checked the magazine within the weapon before sliding it back in. He turned to the pilot, yelling at the startled man.

"Take us down!" Keller shouted, spitting out blood that wasn't his as he spoke.

The pilot nodded, somewhat grateful for the order and so began to send the helicopter into a gradual descent. Keller looked outside and towards the church, catching a glimpse of Lukas as he ran up the front steps and through the battered front wooden doors of the structure. Iris and Wikus were already inside by the looks of it. Now doubt those three would cause as much trouble as possible.

The helicopter touched down and so, trying to ignore the blood that covered almost every part of his uniform save for his back (which had not been turned to either Frans' or Hermes' direction at the times of their demises), Keller stepped out of the helicopter and onto solid ground. Marinus followed while up ahead several mercenaries cut down Vincent Matheson. At least, they had already cut him down: now they were ruthlessly firing into his corpse to ensure that he stayed dead. There wasn't much left of poor old Vincent save for a black bloody heap that vaguely resembled a prawn.

The rain began to pour down harder, rinsing some of the blood out of Keller's hair as he started towards the church. He kept on walking while Marinus followed, the pair heading on towards the church. The other mercenaries had begun to set up a perimeter around the structure. The front doors had been closed and presumably barricaded by the fugitives within. Keller merely assumed that he could find another way in.

With his pistol gripped in his right hand, Keller walked towards the front of the church with an aura of complete confidence. He knew that whatever happened it would shape the rest of his career. After all, he really wanted that bulky pay-check for hauling in Lukas. Hauling in Wikus wouldn't score him too much so he guessed he could just kill that prick of a prawn.

Unsurprisingly, the door was not barricaded. In fact, Keller easily pushed open one of the double doors, revealing the run-down and dimly lit interior beyond. A dank, musty smell hit his nostrils while doves cooed innocently up in the rafters.

"Marinus," Keller said, glancing back at the Captain who stood a short distance behind him, "Watch my back, would you?"


	39. Desperation

**Desperation  
**Somewhere north of Pretoria, South Africa  
June 12th, 2013  
1215 Hours

The inside of the church was dim, with lightning flashing through the windows occasionally. Each flash cast brief, eerie shadows throughout the church's rundown interior. Up at the ceiling, numerous birds (doves mostly) sat, having since coated most of the floor with their excrement. Most of the seats had been shifted around or simply flipped over during the church's state of decay while all sorts of littered was scattered across the floor. Outside it continued to rain heavily while some rainwater dripped through the ceiling through one of the many leaks the church had.

The air within the church was old and musty while most of the interior was coated with dust. Lukas Farber was crouched behind the front altar, prawn-built rifle gripped in his hands (or, more precisely his one hand and his one claw) while he waited for the inevitable onslaught. On the wall behind a cross sat, a rather sad looking statue of Jesus hanging from it. The statue's eyes seemed to be looking in Lukas' direction and the engineer couldn't help but feel a little unnerved. To Lukas' left Wikus was standing behind a pillar, also waiting for whatever inevitable onslaught MNU was going to send their way. Iris had gone into one of the back rooms in an effort to wait this all out, taking Faith with her.

As far as he knew, both Linda and Vincent were dead. So were Michael and Carl. It was as if MNU was gradually whittling down the group until now, leaving just him and Wikus and Iris, along with the loyal young prawn Faith. Lukas didn't know what to think of the situation he was in, except that he might not be seeing his wife and daughter again. If MNU wanted him alive he wasn't about to just turn himself in. He would cause as much trouble as he could and ensure that MNU had no easy time in catching him. Chances are he would get killed but he wasn't afraid…in fact, he was strangely calm, as if the thought of imminent death had taken a sizeable load off of his mind.

He couldn't tell what Wikus was thinking, though. The prawn simply stayed behind the pillar, rifle clutched in his claws while he waited for whatever MNU would be sending. Outside, the sound of the hovering helicopter had ceased, indicating that it may have landed. A few shouts could be heard as well, echoing through the rain. Lukas peered over the top of the altar and down the length of the church, just as lightning flashed again outside. Bright white light flared through the stained-glass windows, briefly casting eerie shadows across the entire inside of the church.

One of the double doors at the front of the church slowly opened and a familiar looking figure stepped within the doorway. Thunder boomed from outside and several doves fluttered across Lukas' view in fright. The engineer took aim at the familiar figure as it stepped inside, followed by another. Colonel Keller stopped a short distance from the door, Marinus Venter standing a little way behind him. Keller surveyed the dreary interior of the rundown church, his Automag pistol gripped in his right hand as he searched for movement. Lukas immediately ducked down behind the altar, thinking over what he should do. He was at a loss in the matter, although part of his mind was telling him to simply shoot Keller and get this over and done with.

"Lukas Farber!" Keller shouted, his voice edged with satisfaction. He knew that he had Lukas cornered, along with the rest of the group. "I know you're in here. Just because we're in a church, doesn't mean I'm going to go easy on you."

Lukas remained silent. He didn't think he should give Keller the satisfaction of getting a reply and instead leaned around the side of the altar, taking careful aim towards Keller with the prawn-built gun.

"I am going to give you one last chance to turn yourself in!" Keller declared, "And, depending on your answer, we're either all going to walk out of here alive and well or I'm going to walk out of here dragging your bloodied corpse behind me. It's your choice and I suggest you think about it thoroughly."

Lukas glanced over at Wikus who seemed to be listening, staying behind the pillar as he contemplated Keller's suggestion. He didn't seem to think that turning himself in would be the wisest thing to do and so remained silent, his eyes making contact with Lukas'. Lukas simply shook his head and was relieved to see that Wikus agreed: neither of them would be turning themselves in.

"Come on, Lukas!" Keller yelled, his tone level, "I'm giving you this one chance! Just the one! Step out with your hands…I mean, with your _claws_ up and we can all walk out of here well and alive."

There was silence. Outside, lightning flashed once more and thunder rumbled seconds afterwards. Keller stood in the middle of the church, Marinus only a short distance behind him. Marinus looked around the seemingly empty church expectantly while Keller stood rather casually, as if he didn't expect anything to happen. Either that or he was just too confident to care.

"I'm going to count to three…" Keller began, pausing for emphasis, "And if you're not out by the time I've finished counting, I'm going to take it that you don't want to turn yourself in. And then I'm going to start shooting." He pulled back the slider on his Automag pistol, letting it click back into place.

Lukas took aim at Keller from around the side of the altar. Wikus was doing the same, thus two guns were on the Colonel rather than one. Lukas began to think about what they would do once the Colonel was dead…MNU wouldn't stop chasing them. No, they would continue hunting them until they got them one way or another. So, Lukas wasn't entirely sure whether there was any point in this exercise. Naturally he quelled these thoughts, preferring to keep his mind on the situation at hand.

"Don't try shooting the place up," Keller announced casually, "This whole church is surrounded. All it takes is one order from me and two dozen mercenaries storm the place. I don't think you'd stand much of a chance against two dozen mercenaries…"

Keller quietly spoke into his radio at that moment. Lukas watched as three more armed mercenaries stepped into the church through the front doors while another five flowed in through the side entrance to Lukas left. They scattered throughout the inside of the church, taking cover behind the seats and pillars. Lukas looked over at Wikus again, able to tell that the prawn was beginning to doubt their chances of survival.

"So, I'm going to begin counting…" Keller said. There was a pause as he cleared his throat, his eyes flitting across the inside of the church. A dove crapped on his shoulder but he paid little attention to it, taking it as a sign of good luck to come.

"One…"

Lukas kept his aim on Keller. He wasn't about to let the bastard get away this time. With Keller gone they might have a better chance of escaping…although this was doubtful. If Keller died he would just be replaced by someone else, someone just as ruthless.

"Two…"

Lukas' grip tightened on his weapon's trigger. It wouldn't be long now and all it would require was a single, well-placed shot in the head or in the chest. Either one would most probably kill the Colonel. Over by the pillar, Wikus was contemplating who to shoot first. The newly arrived mercenaries (only the first eight of two dozen) seemed to be the most immediate threat, especially since they had spread out all through the inside of the church.

"Three…"

It was now or never so Lukas pulled the trigger. Keller ducked and the shot zoomed straight over his head, blowing a large chunk out of one of the front doors. Wikus leaned around the pillar and opened fire with his CR21 rifle, spraying rifle rounds across the length of a few of the seats where the mercenaries were standing. A few of them fell while the others dived into cover, returning fire over the top of the chairs. Parts of the pillar exploded outwards and dust plumed into Wikus' face. The prawn stepped back behind the pillar, barely able to expose himself as rifle fire continued to pound into the front of the pillar.

The doves up in the rafters started fluttering all around the church in fright as the shooting started. Some crossed into Lukas' vision, temporarily throwing off his aim as he attempted to plug the Colonel with a blast from the prawn-built weapon. Keller rolled to the side, raising his pistol and squeezing off a few shots. Lukas ducked back behind the altar as the few rounds slammed nearby, one of them throwing broken pieces of stone into his face which cut into the human flesh on the left side.

The other mercenaries had since opened fire while several more began to charge into the church, rifles raised and firing. The whole inside of the church filled with the sound of continuous rifle fire, creating an almost deafening cacophony. Doves cooed and fluttered around while some of the less fortunate ones were hit by stray rounds, their limp bloodied bodies plopping lifelessly onto the floor. The altar was pounded with bullets, Lukas stumbling onto the floor behind it.

What the hell had he gotten himself into? How many people were shooting at him now? This was certainly worse than any of the previous situations he had been in and it was happening in a church of all places. Weren't churches supposed to be places of peace? The direct opposite of peace was happening here now, he could be sure of that.

One of the mercenaries appeared from around the side of the altar. Lukas promptly raised his prawn-built weapon and blasted the mercenary, the shot going straight through his chest. The mercenary was sent flying about six feet backwards, landing on top of a set of the seats and tumbling onto the floor amongst them. Lukas glanced over at Wikus and saw that the prawn had been charged by a pair of the mercenaries. Wikus slammed the butt-end of his rifle into the face of one, sending this mercenary falling onto the floor and out cold. The other pulled out a knife but Wikus kicked this mercenary in the stomach, sending him flying a short distance before smashing right through the nearest window. He disappeared from view, effectively neutralized.

Lukas took a few deep breaths, thinking over what he would do. He thought of his wife, of his daughter and finally he thought of seeing them again. Just because he was turning into a prawn it didn't mean that he couldn't see his wife and kid. He just needed to get out of here alive first and letting mercenaries swamp his position wouldn't be the way to do this.

Lukas raised his prawn-built weapon and went onto his knees, looking over the top of the altar and down the interior of the church. Keller was to the right, just by one of the pillars to the side. The other mercenaries were firing almost recklessly, rifle rounds pounding into the top of the altar. Stray rounds blew away pieces of the statue of Christ on the cross on the wall behind, showering Lukas with small bits of stone. Lukas ignored them and instead pulled the trigger on the alien weapon, opening fire with a rapid volley of high-powered energy blasts, each one leaving a slight blue vapour trail behind it. He strafed it across one of the groups of mercenaries, cutting them down with ease as the blasts shot straight through the seats the mercenaries were crouched behind. Keller ducked behind the pillar closest to him as Lukas shifted the withering fire in his direction. The blasts didn't quite penetrate the pillar and instead blew rather large chunks from it.

Lukas only realized he was screaming incoherently once his energy cannon stopped firing. He had the trigger pulled but nothing was shooting out of the barrel. Stunned, Lukas shook the weapon at first in surprise and then in frustration, able to see that the high-pitched whine it emitted had since stopped. What the hell was wrong with this thing? He pulled the trigger again and nothing happened, almost as if the weapon was depleted of whatever powered it.

Keller seized his chance and stepped from behind the pillar. Lukas was about to duck to avoid the withering fire of the remaining mercenaries (more flowed into the church through the front door) when Keller fired. The shot struck Lukas in the left shoulder, sending an agonizing if brief stinging pain shooting through him. Lukas fell backwards and onto the floor behind the altar, shouting loudly as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. A strange mix of thick black blood and normal human red blood seeped out of the wound while his whole left arm started to throb painfully. He could barely move it, thinking that the bullet had struck something important. Whatever had happened, he needed a gun otherwise he would be swamped by mercenaries within the next few seconds.

Wikus was still firing from behind the pillar, cutting down a few of the mercenaries that recklessly charged towards him. Keller was emerging from cover, looking somewhat cool-headed as he started towards Wikus' position. He ducked behind a row of seats as Wikus fired in his direction, the bullets tearing holes in the seats but otherwise Keller was left unharmed.

"Wikus!" Lukas shouted, getting the prawn's attention. "I need a gun! Anyone will do!"

Another few mercenaries stormed into the church, sending rifle rounds pounding into the wall over and behind the altar. Lukas kept behind it, trying his best to quite literally keep his head as bullets flew by. Wikus seemed to consider handing him another gun for a moment, still somewhat preoccupied by the fact that he was getting shot at. He pulled a Beretta pistol from his tattered trousers, throwing it towards Lukas. The engineer caught it in his left hand and leaned around the side of the altar, taking aim at the few mercenaries that had started to walk slowly towards his position, rifles raised as they laid down suppressing fire. Lukas pulled the trigger of the pistol in quick succession, emptying the whole fifteen-round magazine within seconds. A few mercenaries fell while the others shifted their rifle fire in Lukas' direction.

Lukas tossed aside the emptied pistol, crawling towards the nearest dead mercenary who was lying a short distance away. Lukas stayed behind the front row of seats as he went, bullets pounding into the tops of the seats and sending pieces of fluff and wood raining down upon him. The noise was practically deafening as several assault rifles all kept firing at once.

Lukas came to the dead mercenary and rummaged through the dead man's equipment, picking up the CR21 rifle that the man had dropped. Lukas clutched hold of the rifle just as a large African-looking mercenary appeared a few metres ahead, preparing to open fire. Lukas pulled the trigger on the rifle, feeling it buckle in his grip as the barrel flared and the bark of the rifle almost deafened him. The African mercenary twisted and fell, several bloodied holes appearing in his front. The mercenary's Kevlar vest did little to stop the rifle rounds, especially at such close range.

Lukas rose to his knees, taking in his surroundings. There were four mercenaries left in the church while the inside of the church itself had been thoroughly ruined, bullet holes in the walls and windows smashed. Most of the seats had been torn to shreds while the hanging statue of Christ on the cross had been shot to pieces. Keller was nowhere to be seen, strangely enough. Lukas had a feeling that the Colonel would show up, he was probably just in cover somewhere.

Lukas swept his rifle fire across the remaining four mercenaries, blasting apart more of the stalls while cutting down the mercenaries. The rifle's magazine clicked on empty and Lukas began to reload, fiddling with the mechanism when it occurred to him that he had no idea of how to do it.

He glanced over at Wikus who was leaning from cover, using his golden-yellow eyes to take in the mostly messed-up interior of the church. It was unexpected when the gunshot rang out from nearby and immediately Lukas' gaze shot to the altar, watching as Keller delivered a pair of shots in Wikus' direction from his Automag pistol.

The first round struck Wikus in the arm, causing him to drop his rifle. Swearing almost incoherently (and loudly) he looked up and towards the Colonel, just in time to be hit with the next shot. The bullet hit him in the stomach area, knocking him backwards and sending him slumping down the wall. A trail of black blood followed as he fell down, coming to rest at the base of the wall with his head lulling to one side.

Lukas, struck with a sudden rage, began to hurriedly try and reload his rifle. Keller, unfortunately, was far faster and started walking towards Lukas, his expression level but narrowed slightly as if the rage he felt was only just barely being contained. Lukas looked up at Keller while he fiddled with the somewhat awkward loading mechanism, finally managing to eject the empty magazine. He fumbled for a new one from the nearby dead mercenary but by that time Keller was standing over him.

Lukas was sent falling backwards as Keller delivered a rather painful kick to Lukas' chest, sending the rifle falling from his grip and clattering onto the floor. Keller leered over him, using his left hand to grab the engineer by the collar while he thrust the barrel of the Automag .44 pistol in his face. Keller's eyes were steeled with rage and Lukas felt terror strike at his heart. He was looking into the eyes of a complete sociopath.

"You half-breed piece of shit…You're a fucking troublemaker, you know that?" Keller said, seemingly having made up his mind on what to do with the engineer, "And you're just a fucking pen-pusher, sitting in an office all day and doing paperwork. Tell me: how the fuck can a dweeb like you become such a fucking nuisance?"

Keller's grip tightened at Lukas neck and the engineer began to feel a bit short of breath. Keller prodded the barrel of the Automag pistol into the hard prawn exoskeleton that had replaced half of Lukas' neck.

"I'm sure my superiors can find out what they want from your corpse," Keller continued, his voice laced with hatred, "Because, by God, I'm going to kill you for all the shit you've done. Originally I was thinking…maybe I should shoot you right between the eyes? Make it quick, you know, execution style?"

He moved the pistol up so that the cold metal of the barrel pressed into the space where his nose met his forehead, appropriately being right between the eyes.

"But now…now I've opted for a slightly different option," Keller said tauntingly, "You see, Lukas…I'm not going to shoot you right between the eyes. I'm going to shoot you right between the balls, just for the hell of it."

Keller began to move the pistol lower in an effort to carry this out. Lukas tensed, expecting the overwhelming pain to start at any moment. However, a volley of rifle shots erupted from nearby and Keller tumbled, a wide-eyed look on his face and several bloodied holes in his back. As he fell he released Lukas, allowing the engineer to catch his breath and relax where he lay.

Lukas looked around, dumbfounded. He had thought he had been done for but somehow…He looked towards Wikus and saw the prawn clutching a smoking CR21 rifle in his right claw, his left trying to stem the blood-flow from his stomach wound. Lukas rose to his feet and raced over to the injured prawn. Regardless of whether Wikus liked him or not, Lukas did owe him something for having gotten rid of that prick Keller. And finally, after almost two days of getting chased and shot at, Lukas Farber could breathe a sigh of relief.

"We have to get out of here," Lukas said, helping Wikus onto his feet, "MNU goons will be crawling all over the area soon enough."

"That fucking bastard shot me," Wikus clicked somewhat weakly, obviously quite annoyed. He didn't sound too good, so Lukas figured that he would need some sort of medical attention. Where from, Lukas had no idea. What they needed to worry about now was getting out of this church and away from the area.

"Let's go get Iris and Faith," Lukas said, helping the prawn along as they started for the hallway that lead into the rear section of the church. Outside, a flash of lightning erupted and thunder crashed loudly. "And then, maybe we could steal one of those APCs they have outside. I don't know where we can go…"  
"We'll go to District 9," Wikus replied. Lukas frowned but didn't protest. District 9 seemed like a safe enough place to go, especially since MNU had little concern for the slums there and the prawns that dwelled there.

And so, Lukas helped the weakly hobbling Wikus along, finding the back room where Iris and Faith had been waiting. Lukas, no longer with the adrenaline flowing through him, began to feel the pain of his transformation again. It seemed that things weren't quite over yet, even as he set Wikus down on a chair and proceeded to take a look at his changing physical form. Lukas found that there were some more sections of the skin at his chest and on his back peeling away rather painfully.

Iris seemed pleased to see him though. Why, he couldn't quite work out. It occurred to him that he now had the hope of a whole race on his shoulders: he was apparently their last chance at freedom. To be honest, he had no idea what to do about it. Such a weighty prospect and all he really wanted to do was to see his wife and daughter, just so he could tell them he was fine.

* * *

Captain Marinus Venter strolled through the completely and utterly shot-up interior of the old church, the smell of gun-smoke quite prominent. Bodies of dead mercenaries littered the floor, along with puddles of bird crap, spent bullet casings and general litter. A few doves fluttered by, cooing innocently. Some had parked themselves on the floor, investigating the bodies of the mercenaries who had been gunned down during the firefight.

For most of that firefight Marinus had been hanging back, popping off the occasional shot but otherwise he knew when a firefight was practically fruitless. He had watched Keller's back up until that prawn, Wikus, had shot him down. And Marinus had watched from the shadows as both Wikus and Lukas had left the room, disappearing into a hallway at the far end of the church. As much as he would have liked to kill Wikus, he knew that it was not the ex-human's fault that his brother had been killed. And a vengeance killing was certainly not going to put his mind at ease anyway. He didn't care about either of them to be frank, they weren't his problem. In fact, none of this had really been his problem. Keller had simply dragged him along for the ride, it seemed.

Marinus heard some sort of shuffling noise from his left as he approached the altar, having been gazing at the mostly destroyed statue of Christ on the cross. Marinus stopped and turned in the direction of the noise, instinctively raising his rifle. He relaxed it slightly when he saw that it was the Colonel.

Colonel Francis Keller was looking somewhat worse for wear. He was dragging himself along the floor at a rather slow pace, leaving a thick trail of red blood behind him. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth while several exit wounds had been blown into his front, all of them bleeding profusely. He saw Marinus and his eyes noticeably lit up at the sight. Marinus, on the other hand, simply kept his gaze level.

"Captain…You've got to help me…" Keller croaked. One hand still clutched his Automag pistol while the other was attempting to quell the blood flow at his stomach. It was a futile gesture and Marinus doubted the Colonel's chances of survival.

"Call an ambulance…" Keller said. He noticed Marinus' lack of concern and frowned, annoyed at this. "Come on, Captain, can't you see I'm dying here? Call a fucking ambulance!"

Marinus stepped forward, taking a look down at this once great man. Of course, Marinus had never thought too highly of the Colonel. In his perception, Colonel Keller had been just another no-good mercenary, one who seemed to think he was better than everyone else. Marinus could only smirk when he saw this somewhat cocky Colonel laid out on the floor, bleeding to death and probably in a lot of pain.

At this moment, Marinus remembered something rather important. In fact, it was possibly the one thing he did care about other than himself. Keller had the cylinder on him, the one filled with the black alien fluid. It was probably the last trace of the stuff left after the medical pod had been destroyed and naturally there would be plenty of people willing to pay top-dollar for it. Keller had been right about it being an "insurance policy", except this "insurance policy" would be helping Marinus and not the man who had come up with the idea.

Keller watched with a stunned gaze as Marinus bent down and rummaged through the Colonel's vest and pouches. Keller protested but Marinus ignored him, intent on finding the cylinder. Finally he did locate it, tucked away in a pouch at Keller's waist. Removing it from the pouch Marinus stood up, taking a long careful gaze at it while Keller simply glared at him, wide-eyed. A quick glance at the cylinder inside its plastic bag revealed that a stray bullet had punctured the once sealed bag and that the cylinder was leaking black fuel all over what it touched. Funnily enough, some of it had congealed all over Keller's vest without him noticing. Some unavoidably rubbed off on Marinus' fingers as he tucked it away into his vest but he thought little of it.

"What the fuck are you doing, Captain?" Keller asked. Marinus turned around and started to walk away, having absolutely no intention of helping out the Colonel. He had what he wanted and he would leave, no longer concerning himself with this "hunt for Lukas" business.

"Captain!" Keller shouted, enraged. He rolled onto his side, watching as Captain Venter casually walked back to the front doors. Weakly he raised his Automag pistol, squeezing off a few shots. All of them missed and it took only a few for the magazine to have been completely emptied. Swearing loudly, Keller tossed the pistol aside and started to crawl for the nearest dead mercenary, hoping to find another gun.

By that time Marinus had stepped outside and into the rain. Pocketing the cylinder, he started to walk. He wasn't sure where he would go, but he would definitely leave South Africa. He was sick of the country…maybe he would roam the Earth for the rest of his days, unable to find somewhere to settle. And he would cash in the alien cylinder to whoever was willing to pay the most.

The helicopter was still parked outside, the pilot sitting inside the blood-stained interior, still wiping away the blood that had splattered onto the window from earlier. Marinus climbed aboard, getting the pilot's attention.

"Let's go," Marinus said simply, sitting down.

"Where's everyone else?" The pilot asked, confused.

"They're dead. Now start flying."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Now I'm having trouble working out how I should end this story. The original ending I wrote is somewhat downbeat. It's not the first time I've had trouble ending something. So, there will be more chapters, I just don't know how many more.


	40. Return to District 9

**Return to District 9  
**District 9, Johannesburg  
June 17th, 2013  
1830 Hours

The sun had since set and evening had fallen upon the slums of District 9. The air was cool and a gentle breeze wafted between the shacks. Typical and somewhat loud hip-hop music was booming from a nearby Nigerian gang nest, the gangsters themselves cheerfully mucking around, firing their rifles into the air while beating on an unfortunate prawn.

The last few days here had been hell. Lukas Farber had been forced endure some of the most agonizing pain he had ever been subjected to, some of the most agonizing _anyone_ had been subjected to. Whole chunks of his own flesh had fallen off in order to reveal the hardened prawn exoskeleton underneath. Bones had broken yet his limbs still worked, as if the bones themselves he no longer needed. Throughout the transformation he had been in one of the shacks, writhing around on the floor and screaming helplessly. The transformation had taken a few days and Lukas had been forced to endure the agony, watching pieces of himself quite literally fall away and get replaced with the physiology of a prawn. He hadn't been game enough to watch what had happened to his reproductive organs, preferring to simply lie on a mat on the floor and wait the whole transformation out. He did have a photo of his wife and daughter in his wallet, one that he gazed at every now and then to remind him of who he was. He might be changing into a prawn but that didn't mean he still couldn't be Lukas Farber.

Today he had woken up in the morning to find that the pain had subsided. Instead, he had gazed in the nearest mirror (one that was somewhat dirty and cracked) and gazed in horror at the completely alien face that gazed back. He was perhaps a foot and a half taller than he had used to be, with golden-yellow eyes and an almost black exoskeleton. He was noticeably more burly than most other prawns, perhaps hinting at the differences he had to them. There was an extra "finger" on each hand, hinting further at what kind of prawn he was. He was apparently some sort of "leader" prawn, although he couldn't really tell. Instead, he had been distracted by the stench of pheromones from Iris who had entered the room, pleased to see that he had woken up. She had been out scavenging for food and had returned with a few cans of cat food. She tossed one to Lukas who fumbled it in his claw, unused to the way they worked. He dropped it and managed an embarrassed chirp, bending down to pick it up.

_You're the boss. She's yours to do as you please to her…_Strange thoughts invaded Lukas' mind. The Popleekwan females were rare and reserved for those with higher statuses in order to ensure the gene pool was pure. The workers could asexually reproduce but he needed a female. And there was one, right in the room with him. What the hell was that ache at his groin telling him?

Here he was, subjected to eating cat food and living in a slum. He couldn't believe the way his life was going now. Lukas had torn open the can and chowed down on the contents, hating himself for liking the taste so much. He had a cat…he supposed he and his family's cat weren't so different now, having the same tastes in food. After eating the cat food he felt a little ill but even so he had eaten another two can's worth. Faith had come in then as well and he felt somewhat comforted by the young prawn's presence, especially since she seemed rather in awe of him now.

Lukas' tattered MNU uniform had barely fit him now so he had taken off the shirt and jacket, preferring to leave the tattered blue pants on mainly for modesty reasons. His new form felt foreign to him and simple acts such as talking or walking were difficult to do. His voice had been downgraded to the clicks and chirps of the prawn race while his senses had been noticeably improved, with a sense of smell sensitive enough to detect the slightest trace of pheromones and eyesight that could read writing half an inch in size from a considerable distance away. Another thing he had found different had been the reproductive organs, reassuring him that he hadn't unexpectedly changed gender during the transformation. He could stand and urinate if he wanted to, thank God for that.

The shack was a two room affair and Lukas had spent the last few days in the bedroom, writhing around on the dirty mattress. He could smell something that was noticeably off and so made sure to clean away all the leftover pieces of his human form that had peeled off during the transformation, finding this to be somewhat sickening. Wikus had spent the last few days in the other room, having been quite adamant that he could fix himself up. He had managed a few agonized screams as he had tried to remove the bullet from his gut, finally succeeding before bandaging it up. He had left the day before, presumably in order to scout out the District. He hadn't been here for a while and things had changed, with the advent of a new Nigerian gang and recent MNU efforts to demolish more of the lesser populated areas.

This evening Lukas had decided to head outside and take a walk at what would probably be his new home for a while. He was still contemplating on leaving to visit his family, even if they wouldn't be able to recognize him. However, he would find it difficult to simply abandon the prawns, seeing as he was apparently their only hope. Iris kept telling him that anyway and he couldn't help but think that it was true. Apparently he could control the masses of worker prawns if he wanted to, just by using his overpowered pheromones and telepathy. He had no idea of how to do either and he wasn't about to try.

The shack they were hiding out in belonged to a somewhat young prawn (perhaps twenty-two in human years) named Alan. He had taken up the human pastime of smoking, something that Lukas found peculiar but hadn't said anything about it. Alan had agreed to take Lukas for a tour around the district to get him accustomed to some of the sights, as well as tell him the many dangers that faced a prawn in a place like this. Lukas could guess what some of them were, such as the Nigerians. MNU helicopters often flew overhead but Lukas had no need to fear them: they wouldn't be able to recognize him, for one thing.

Alan had a light-brown exoskeleton and was a little shorter than Lukas. He seemed typical of the majority of the prawns in the district, albeit somewhat more intelligent than most. He didn't seem to mind Lukas, thinking that if the MNU human was now a prawn he was as trustworthy as any other prawn. The pair had since stopped on one of the main streets of the district, one where numerous prawns and Nigerians seemed to be hanging out. By now the prostitutes had started their rounds and Alan seemed to be eyeing one of them in particular while blowing on a cigarette.

Lukas needed some practice in talking while in his new form and had some difficulty in forming coherent prawn words and phrases. He could understand what he said, as if some subconscious change had occurred which had programmed him with the language of the alien race. He wondered what other changes had occurred in his mind…every now and then he would find himself gazing longingly at Iris, as if he was attracted to her. The thought only unnerved him, especially since he was married to a human. He was supposed to like humans, a fact that was proven since some of the human female prostitutes hanging around here did catch his eye. The one Alan seemed to be looking at was standing nearby, dressed in a rather skimpy outfit for such a cool night. She was young and Caucasian, blonde-haired and blue-eyed. She mustn't have been any older than sixteen or seventeen, forced to sell herself as a whore in order to get by.

"Lukas," Alan said, turning his gaze to the burly prawn, "Any of them catch your eye?"

Lukas was taken off-guard by the question. He could tell that Alan was being serious.

"I'm married," Lukas replied, having to form each word slowly, "besides, why humans? Why not your own kind?"

Alan removed the cigarette from his mouth, thinking over the question for a moment.

"Popleekwa females are few and far between," Alan said, "And they are often strictly reserved for those high-up in our social structure." He paused and Lukas detected the prawn equivalent of a smile form on his features. "Such as you, no doubt."

Lukas didn't know what to think when Alan said this. The implications were all there: he was a leader and Iris had a habit of eyeing him carefully, gazing at him with a noticeable longing in her eyes. Lukas tried to ignore it, mainly because he didn't like what Alan was implying. The fellow prawn seemed to be enjoying himself, smiling away as if he was high or something.

"I can never understand why humans would bond to someone for life," Alan said, "this thing called 'marriage': What is the point of it?"

"The point of it is to…to…" Lukas trailed off, partly because he was having trouble forming the words and partly because he had no real answer to the question. Alan gave the prawn equivalent of a shrug and continued smoking.

"If you want to spend time with any of these human females, you just tell me," Alan said, "I'll be more than willing to pay for your first time." He reached into a pocket at his dirty (once beige) trousers and removed a thick wad of money, flicking through it with one claw. Lukas could only shake his head at the offer.

"I think I'll pass," Lukas said uneasily.

Alan shrugged.

"That's your loss, not mine," he said. He paused, glancing over at the blonde-haired girl nearby once more. Lukas could see what he was intent on doing and decided to not say anything about it.

"I suppose you can find your way back to the shack by yourself?" Alan asked.

Lukas nodded. He knew the way and it wasn't too far either. Strangely enough, he could probably find his way back by using scent. Such a notion just helped to unnerve him even more.

Alan seemed pleased to hear this judging by the excited pheromones that he emitted. Still, he kept casual and simply nodded.

"Good. Meanwhile, I have some matters to take care of. You can head back, if you want," Alan said. He turned around and started towards the human female, stopping a short distance from her and showing her the wad of cash he held. Lukas managed to hear what the exchange that took place between the pair as he turned in the opposite direction to start walking.

"What's your fee?" Alan asked.

"One hundred-and-sixty," the girl replied.

"I've got three times as much," Alan said, sounding rather pleased with himself.

The pair disappeared into a nearby shack a few seconds later. Lukas watched them go in before turning back around and starting down the street, wallowing in his own thoughts as he went. He couldn't believe the nerve of Alan…then again, he supposed such actions were commonplace around here. Alan had been more interested in getting laid than actually providing a tour of the district for Lukas, not that there was much to see within the district.

Lukas doubted he could ever get used to life here. He doubted he could ever get used to his new physical form either. There were just far too many differences, too many things he found rather strange. And the fact that he could unwittingly release a hell of a lot of pheromones unnerved him. How could he possibly use them to control some of the other prawns? Iris kept saying he had the ability to, hence the reason why she was so certain that he could unite the prawns under his command. And why would he want to do that? What could he possibly hope to achieve by doing that?

There were too many things on his mind, most of them to do with the consequences of being turned into a prawn. He didn't want to hate himself for what he had become but this is what ended up happening. He hated the way his life had changed, all because of some black alien fluid that had gotten into his right eye. What did this crap happen to him? Why not somebody else?

He had thought that after they had left the church a number of days ago things would be over. It seemed they weren't over, not by a long-shot. He had still had to endure the transformation and now he was forced to live in these slums with a whole lot of other prawns, including one who seemed far more interested in sex than making friends. He couldn't believe how much a turn for the worse his life had taken. All because of one little occurrence in District 10…

Lukas wandered the streets, passing the occasional prawn. The other prawns, the ones that seemed more animal-like than usual, regarded him with very curious gazes as he walked past, as if they knew that there was something different about him. The dark exoskeleton, the larger build…There was something different about him, this much was obvious. And if Iris was right, all he needed was to learn how to control those apparently very effective pheromones of his. Lukas had more or less resigned himself to what he was now, knowing that there was no way he could ever be human again. The transformation was far too thorough and the only human part of him left was his mind, albeit now trapped in this alien body.

Lukas arrived back at the shack, the one that he had started to call "home". It was just like all of the others, just slightly larger and with two rooms rather than one. He walked through the front door, entering the cluttered living room inside. It was lit by candlelight and was empty save for Iris who was sitting in a chair, Faith having fallen asleep on her lap. She looked up as Lukas approached, her golden-yellow eyes brightening noticeably. Lukas just kept his usual straight-face, still not used to all the extra appendages that came with his new form. He didn't even know how to smile but he supposed such an act would come naturally.

"Lukas, you're back," Iris said, sitting up in her seat. Lukas closed the door behind him as he entered, searching for a suitable place to sit. He sat himself down on the tattered couch that Alan (the owner of the shack) had obviously found on a scrapheap somewhere.

The routine of life here in District 9 was fairly mundane: every morning Alan would go out scavenging for food and any other items he found that interested him, furniture included. Sometimes he would get supplies from the Nigerians and on some days, when he was feeling game enough he would leave the district and raid any human households that interested him. It was from these houses he often returned with the most useful items, such as cash which he then used to buy food from the Nigerians and hire human prostitutes. He seemed to spend the majority of it on prostitutes though, hiring one almost every day.

"Where's Alan?" Iris asked. Lukas took a moment to realize that she was wearing the prawn equivalent of an inquisitive frown.

"He's busy," Lukas replied. He looked up, his eyes meeting with Iris'. He wasn't in much of a mood to pay much attention to her, preferring to wallow in his own thoughts. He was still trying to work out what he would do, whether he would stay here or visit his wife and daughter. He was afraid of what would happen if he did see Katherine. There was a chance she wouldn't even recognize him…More than a chance, in fact. It was a _certainty_.

"Oh…" Iris seemed to understand what Lukas was implying, having known Alan longer than he had.

"Is Wikus back yet?" Lukas asked. Wikus had left the night before without specifying where he had been planning on going. He had simply got up and left, mentioning that he might not be back for a while.

"No," Iris replied, "I haven't seen him at all today. It's as if he just disappeared…"

Lukas simply nodded. He wasn't really concerned with what Wikus was doing at the moment. Rather, he wanted to focus on his immediate situation. Here he was, as some sort of prawn "leader", stuck living in District 9. It occurred to him that if MNU found out of the existence of some sort of "leader" prawn they would actively seek it out. Such a thought only made Lukas feel uneasy.

"Iris, I want you to be honest with me," Lukas said, eyeing the female prawn carefully. She wriggled her antennae uncertainly, unsure of what to expect.

"Do you seriously expect me to go along with this 'unification' plan of yours?" Lukas asked, "You seem to think that I'll happily unite the prawns under me, as if I don't have any problem with this. You seem so certain that I'll be able to provide your…I mean, _our_ race with the freedom it deserves." Lukas paused, taking note of Iris' uncertainty. He had been thinking about this a fair bit over the last few days, during the times where he hadn't been curled on the floor in agony from the transformation. Now that it had finished he was free to think as much as he wanted.

"I have a few problems with this," Lukas said, "Such as the fact that I can't quite bring myself to admit what I am. I may be a prawn, but I've still got my human mind. And I am really pissed off about what's happened to me, you understand? My mind's full of conflicting thoughts about what I should do…"

"There's no use in denying what you are," Iris said simply, her tone strangely soothing.

"Well, that's easier said than done," Lukas replied. He was getting annoyed now, not because of Iris' casual demeanour but by the fact that it was true: he wasn't about to accept what he was, not unless he had a really good reason to do so.

"Another thing that bothers me is the fact that, being different to the rest of the prawns, MNU might take interest in me and then they'll start chasing me all over again," Lukas said, pausing momentarily, "You say I can control the lower-class ones through my pheromones. So far, I haven't been able to do that. Not only that, but even if I did manage to unite the prawns, what would I do then? Do you want me to start a full-scale revolution or something?"

Iris seemed to think about all of this for a moment, bristling her antennae slightly as she thought. Lukas calmed down and sat back in the couch, taking a careful look at the exoskeleton plates on his legs. With one claw he scraped the dirt that had gathered in between some of the plates, now thinking that this new body would need a fair bit of maintenance to keep clean. Did they have shower facilities in District 9? He didn't think so. MNU didn't care enough about the prawns here to bother building any public showers.

"The ability to control those under you will develop eventually," Iris said, "And about the idea of a revolution: Well, it seems to be the most logical thing to do."  
"Start a revolution?" Lukas scoffed. "You've got to be kidding. I'm not going to start any damn revolution. For one thing, it'll probably end badly…"  
"But it'll alert the rest of the world to our plight here," Iris said, "And maybe the other human nations might take action."

Lukas gave the prawn version of a frown. She made a good point; Lukas just didn't see the point in going ahead with a scheme that would undoubtedly lead to a lot of needless killing. He had already had enough of that sort of thing in recent days.

"I'm not too sure about this plan," Lukas said with uncertainty, "Besides, before I start causing any sort of revolution I want to see my wife and daughter first."

"Your mate and your offspring?" Iris frowned at the suggestion. "I don't think that would be wise…"

"I want to see them," Lukas said sternly. Nothing anyone else said could change that. He wanted to see them and he was going to see them, no matter what he had to do in order to achieve this.

Iris was silent for a moment. Lukas was adamant that he would be going to see his wife and daughter, regardless of what might happen to him and how they might react. They were his family after all and he had a right to see them. And if the last phone call he had made to Katherine had been an indication of anything, it had been that his family was in MNU custody. The sheer thought that they were being held in custody just because of what had happened to him and because of his subsequent actions pissed him off.

"Lukas, if you're not willing to help our race," Iris said, strangely quietly, "I think I may have a solution of sorts…"

Lukas raised an eyebrow-ridge. What the hell was she getting at now? He watched as she stood up and approached, stopping just in front of him. Lukas wasn't too interested in whatever she had to say, quite adamant that he would be leaving to visit his family the next morning. That was his plan anyway and no one could change it.

"I didn't say I wasn't willing to help," he said, watching her, "I just said that I want to visit my family first before I dive into any sort of resistance activities. Tomorrow morning I'm going to leave and go back to my house and I'm going to meet my wife and my daughter…"

Iris leaned forward and put a claw to his mouth, making him fall silent. Lukas frowned, trying to work out what she was doing. Why was she looking at him like that? Some inner feeling, one that hadn't been there before his transformation, kicked in and he immediately felt an ache at his crotch.

_Oh God,_ he thought absently, _I'm getting turned on by a stinking alien. Then again, I'm an alien as well, so I guess that makes things even. Sort of…_

"Lukas, just be quiet," Iris said soothingly, tracing one claw along the side of Lukas' face, "I want you to do something for me. It may seem like a big ask, but trust me…It'll help our race. Not only that, but you won't need to get involved in starting any sort of 'revolution'."

"What are you suggesting?" Lukas asked, finding himself captivated by her eyes. He couldn't look away from them, no matter how hard he tried.

"You're a leader," Iris said, "And you carry their genes. If you…"

"No," Lukas said impulsively, interrupting Iris mid-sentence. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I am _not_ going to make you pregnant. You have to understand, the sheer thought…Christ, I don't know. You shouldn't need to do this…I don't want to do it…" Lukas had been reduced to a stammering wreck, able to feel his alien heart racing inside his chest.

"Think about it, Lukas," Iris said. She moved closer, kneeling across his lap. Lukas could sense the aroused pheromones pouring off of her, unsure of whether he should play along with her or not. Wouldn't this count as cheating on his wife? Besides, it was an entirely new experience for him. And Iris did have a good plan: if she got pregnant and laid a bunch of eggs filled with leader prawns then they would be able to unite their race once they had grown up. Lukas would feel guilty if he didn't go along with the scheme and even guiltier if he went along with it. It was a no-win situation.

"You'll be helping the Popleekwan race," Iris said, "I'm willing to have you fertilize…"

"Don't use that word," Lukas interjected, feeling rather uneasy while at the same time excited. His mind was once again full of contradicting thoughts. Should he or shouldn't he? He couldn't stop himself, some inner alien urge forcing him to go along with it.

Iris had already taken off the flimsy pair of tattered trousers he had been wearing. Her face was close to his and the allure of those eyes kept Lukas transfixed.

"This is weird…" Lukas said absently. He found himself inexplicably going along with this. And yet he couldn't stop thinking about his wife.

"Just relax," Iris said soothingly. She moved slightly.

"Uh…"

"Right there…Oh, Lukas."

* * *

Alan was standing outside, listening to the female groan while the ex-human only grunted uncertainly inside the shack. The prawn thought for a moment about what this entailed, reaching into one pocket in his well-maintained set of dark brown trousers and removing a small card that had been given to him by a particular human.

Alan knew how to read, his father had made him learn not only the Popleekwan language but also the main human language as well. Glancing at the card, Alan began to think of all the rewards he would receive for delivering such information.

RICHARD HOUSER, ASSOCIATE TO MNU. Alan flipped over the small white card and saw the instructions on how to contact the man. All he had to do was deliver himself to the nearest MNU patrol and show the card. They would take him to Houser and he could deliver the intelligence he had gathered. No doubt Richard Houser would be interested in what was happening now. It changed the whole game for everyone involved. And with the information would come rewards, such as cat food and more money that he could use to buy time with the human women on offer within the district.

Life, it seemed, was grand.


	41. Reunited

**Reunited  
**MNU Headquarters, Johannesburg  
June 18th, 2013  
1020 Hours

The mid-morning air was warm and up on the top balcony of the MNU Headquarters building, a breeze billowed by. Jonas Locaheen, the middle-aged Director of MNU's South Africa branch had spent the last twenty minutes standing on this balcony, allowing the wind to ruffle up his hair and flutter around his suit. Below spread the modern city of Johannesburg while lying on the outskirts to the west sat District 9, a dirty smear on the landscape that was yet to be removed. Jonas always thought this about District 9 every morning he stood up here while helping himself to the orange juice supplied to him and the slices of toast his secretary prepared for him.

He had a lot of things on his mind, this having been the case for the last week or so. Ever since Richard Houser, the mysterious American man from another organization, had come into his office about fifteen days ago spouting some nonsensical scheme things had gone downhill. The scheme itself, to recover a potentially useful alien medical pod, had failed miserably. The one known as Lukas Farber, a man who had apparently been turning into some sort of "leader" prawn, had been lost. He had seemingly disappeared from the sight of MNU, something that was no mean feat considering that MNU was a global corporation. It was fairly difficult to hide from a global corporation, especially one that had access to its own army as well as satellites that could read the time off of someone's wrist-watch from outer space. Jonas tried to not let such failures annoy him but this was easier said than done. Jonas had been hoping for a breakthrough in the scheme, one that would help them determine how prawn-built weaponry only worked for prawns and not humans. With such information they could have developed hybrid super soldiers and then sold them off to whoever was willing to pay the most money. The plan would have made Jonas rich, it would have made Richard rich and it would have ensured that Jonas would get an early retirement. And now things had fallen apart, almost literally. Lukas Farber was gone, the alien medical pod had been destroyed and the mercenary force involved had been mostly eliminated. How some pen-pushing engineer who worked on one of the lower floors of the building could have killed a few dozen mercenaries was beyond Jonas' knowledge. He figured that luck had attributed to it somehow. Lukas had, after all, been one of the few who could have certainly survived the transformation from human into prawn, having determined this from his DNA. He had all the right traits…hence the reason they had put him in the anti-alien terrorism squad in the first place. The plan had been to get him exposed to that strange black alien fluid…well, not necessarily Lukas but anyone else in the team. They were all liable to survive the transformation. They would have all made the first test subjects had the alien medical pod survived its trip to the facility in southern Zimbabwe that Richard's organization ran.

Jonas had been dwelling on such thoughts for days now, trying to work out the consequences of Lukas' escape and the destruction of the alien medical pod. If what he had heard was correct then chances are Lukas Farber had by now finished the metamorphosis, developing into the "leader" class prawn. These were the very sort of prawns that had apparently been in charge of all of the others but had all died somehow, hence their absence on the mother-ship. Without these "leaders" the lower class prawns were a disorganized riff-raff, full of mostly idiot aliens who were unpleasant to live with. If Lukas was some sort of "leader" he may be able to organize the prawn masses, something which would prove to be rather fatal for MNU.

Jonas had a glass of orange juice in his right hand, sipping it carefully. On a table on the balcony was a plate, one that had a pair of buttered slices of golden-brown toast on it. He wasn't too hungry though, leaving the toast to go cold as he dwelled upon his thoughts of recent events and the fears that entailed them. None of this would have happened if Richard Houser hadn't gotten involved. Jonas could trace all of this trouble back to that American man. It seemed logical, that in order to save his own career he would have to sever his ties with Houser and whatever organization the man worked for. He still hadn't specified just what organization he was with but there was no doubt in Jonas' mind that it was an American one, possibly FBI, CIA or even NSA. Then again, it might be one that no one had even heard of, hence explaining why Richard hadn't even disclosed the name of it.

Ten minutes ago Jonas had called Richard, demanding that the man come meet him in his office as soon as possible. It had just so happened that Richard had been on his way to talk to Jonas about an important development, something that both renewed some slight part of Jonas' dwindling confidence in the scheme while further striking doubt in him. The Director was left with a feeling of uncertainty on his mind, one that was only marginally helped by the music he had playing from the stereo on one wall of his office.

"_I've got…TWO tickets to paradise! Why don't you…pack your bags and we'll leave tonight!"_

Jonas took another sip of orange juice before putting the glass down on the table out on the balcony. He turned around and stepped back into the air conditioned comfort of his office, switching off the music just as the intercom on his desk crackled into life. His secretary's voice filtered through the speaker and Jonas stepped over to his desk, listening carefully.

"_Mr. Houser is here to see you, sir,"_ the secretary said, _"Should I send him up?"  
_Pressing the "response" button on the intercom, Jonas delivered his reply.

"Send him up," Jonas said evenly before depressing the button. He only had to wait a minute or two for Richard Houser to push open the double doors of the office, waltzing on in with an aura of over-confidence and a rather beaming smile.

Unlike their first meeting, Richard Houser was dressed in jeans and a blue Hawaiian shirt. His dark hair was cut to a reasonably moderate length and he had no fringe; instead the hair had been slicked up with some sort of cheap hair product. Whatever organization Richard Houser worked for they didn't seem to have much of a dress code, Jonas could tell this much just by looking at the man. Unless Richard simply chose to not pay attention to any "dress code", a thought that was more than likely. The doors slammed shut behind Richard as he walked in. He stopped a short distance ahead of the desk, keeping that irritating smile on his face while he gazed towards the Director of MNU's South Africa branch. He was trying to work out why Jonas Lochaeen had such a sour looking expression on his face.

"What's the matter, Jonas?" Richard asked, "You look like you're constipated…"

"I am not constipated," Jonas interrupted, deciding to stop Richard from descending into some sort of irrelevant discussion about the more interesting aspects of constipation, "I'm just pissed off. And do you know why?"

Richard shrugged. Either he didn't know (which struck Jonas as naïve) or he didn't care (which struck Jonas as stupid).

"This plan of yours…It's fallen apart. I should never have let you talk me into helping you. Now I've got a whole lot of dead mercenaries, a derailed train and some sort of 'boss prawn' on the loose. And if it weren't for you, none of this shit would have happened." Jonas paused for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. Much to his annoyance, Richard didn't appear to be too concerned about it. In fact, he was still wearing that beaming smile of his.

"What the hell are you smiling about?" Jonas asked, annoyed and bordering on sheer rage. This petulant moron was simply standing still with an irritating grin on his face, as if nothing Jonas said mattered to him. One wouldn't have been wrong to think that these problems meant absolutely nothing to Richard Houser.

"I'm smiling because I know something you don't," Richard replied, his tone upbeat. Jonas raised an eyebrow. _What the hell could this prick be getting at?_ Jonas thought.

"You know something I don't?" Jonas scoffed. "Well, let me think…What could you possibly know that I don't? Did you know, now that we have that prick Lukas on the loose, that we could be facing a full scale revolution? Such an act may be easy to quell but the backlash from other nation's governments would be massive. This great nation has already been classed as 'xenophobic'; it's just that none of the other world leaders have really bothered to do much about it. However, violently putting down a revolution, something that I see as inevitable if those prawns were to be united and revolt, would draw much attention to what we're doing here. More people would sympathize with the prawns…enough do already. Imagine the might of other countries pressuring us into giving up the power we hold over the prawns…It would be disastrous for this corporation. It would be disastrous to your organization's interests. It would be disastrous for all of us. I just can't fathom why you seem to think it's so funny. In my eyes, you and you're fucking organization, whatever it calls itself, caused this trouble. You're nothing but a fucking troublemaker to me, Richard Houser. Same goes to your cohorts. And that prick Colonel Keller? He obviously couldn't do his job right. You were the one who recommended him to lead this operation, so I trusted your decision. But now I'm left thinking: he was incapable of running this scheme. He was incapable of doing anything except kill things. He was useless, just like you and the rest of your fucking organization…"

"Are you done?" Richard interjected, having heard enough. Jonas took a breath, trying to work out if he had missed out on anything important. He couldn't come up with anything so he assumed that he had covered all that he had wanted to say. "Besides, you shouldn't denounce Colonel Keller. For starters, he's quite good at what he does. And, contrary to what you might have been told, he is not dead. At least, no one's been able to locate his body.

"And another thing: I didn't come up here to get filibuster from you, Jonas," Richard said, his tone somewhat more level. His smile had gone and instead his expression was one of distinct neutrality. "I came up here to tell you something, something I only received word of recently. And it's something that'll change the game for everyone involved…"

Jonas shook his head. He wasn't too concerned about what Richard wanted to tell him. Honestly, he didn't care. He just wanted Richard out of this corporation's business before he screwed it up even more. And he had screwed things up considerably; there was no doubt about that. Jonas was thinking of just telling Richard to leave now rather than hear him out but there was a thought at the back of his mind, one that was urging him to listen to whatever the man had to say. Jonas considered having security escort Richard out, just for the fun of it. Such an occurrence was only a finger press away, for all Jonas had to do was press a button on the intercom and tell the security guards outside to come on in.

"We know where Lukas Farber is," Richard said, that irritating smile appearing on his face again. Jonas raised an eyebrow when he heard this, trying to determine whether the implications of it were really worth the trouble or not. "And we know that he's turned into some sort of 'boss' or 'leader' prawn. Sure, the physical differences aren't all that much…I reckon he's become a sort of 'commander' and not a dead-set 'queen' but even so, he still has the potential to have complete control over the prawn masses."

Jonas had his doubts about what was being said, struck between caring about it and simply not giving a damn. Something told him that Lukas Farber wasn't the type to incite a full-scale revolution.

"How did you find this out?" Jonas asked.

"An informer," Richard replied, "What did I say at our first meeting? Come on, Jonas, you should remember…" He smiled. Jonas just frowned in response, unamused. "Oh, come on…You're no fun, Jonas. I said that we had informers in both districts…_prawn_ informers. And one of them got in touch with me late last night and delivered a few interesting tid-bits of information in exchange for some cash and cat-food." He chuckled, as if a funny thought occurred to him. Jonas was perplexed at this reaction and kept the no-nonsense frown on his face.

"What the hell's so funny?" He asked.

"Oh, Jonas, you're going to love this," Richard said, sounding practically excited at whatever he was about to say. Jonas didn't share in this sense of excitement, further cemented in his perception of Richard as a complete and utter moron.

"Lukas Farber, now fully transformed, was caught humping some female prawn by this informer of mine," Richard said, unable to help but chuckle when he said this, "The generally accepted fact is that Lukas intends on spreading his leader genes into the next generation of prawns. So, when that female lays her eggs…"

"We'll have a lot of these 'leader's to deal with?" Jonas asked. The thought made him sick to the stomach. Immediately he decided that action would need to be taken to ensure that none of these prawns were born. That would mean that Lukas and this female would have to be apprehended and promptly killed.

"Yes, exactly!" Richard exclaimed, sounding like a game-show host as he said this, "Which means that Lukas himself doesn't need to start a revolution…Only one of his kids has to. You following this?"

"Of course I am, you fucking moron!" Jonas snapped. He slammed a fist down on the desk angrily, receiving a startled look from Richard as he did this. The situation was grim now, he knew that. There would be a revolution for sure and thus he would have to act fast. For starters, he didn't need this prick Richard Houser around to screw things up more. And there was on telling that Lukas Farber might try impregnating more females, if only to help the prawns into gaining freedom. In fact, it seemed that Lukas had taken on a sort of "messiah" role as a result of his transformation.

"Where is Lukas now?" Jonas asked.

"You should take a chill pill…"

"Fuck you, Richard," Jonas said, shooting a mean gaze at the man, "I should never have agreed to this plan of yours in the first place. It's completely fucked things up. And you yourself are a complete and utter fuck-tard, you know that?"

There was a pause for a moment as neither man spoke, thinking the situation over in their minds. Richard seemed to be rather taken aback by all the yelling and swearing, having lost that smile of his. For once Jonas felt above this man, no longer subjected to his condescending attitude.

"Where's Lukas now?"

"I can give you the address…"

"Scribble it down on the notepad," Jonas demanded, nodding in the direction of a notepad at the other side of the desk. Richard did as he was told, scribbling the address down on the top piece of paper using a pen from the desk. Jonas tore the paper off of the top of the pad once the address was down, returning his gaze to Richard afterwards.

"Now fuck off," Jonas said bluntly.

The words seemed to take a moment to register in Richard's mind. When they did the man frowned.

"What?"

"I said, _fuck off!_" Jonas yelled, sending a spray of spittle flying in Richard's direction. Richard stood his ground but was noticeably annoyed, one eyebrow twitching slightly. It seemed that an all out argument would erupt, something that didn't concern Jonas since he had the jurisdiction here. Richard was just some moron from some American organization who had caused more harm than good for MNU.

"Jonas, I want to make something very clear to you," Richard said, his voice suddenly dead serious. He wore a frown, one that seemed aimed at intimidating. Jonas wasn't affected by it, though.

"You make me leave and I'm not coming back," Richard continued, "You will never hear from me or the organization I work for ever again. You and your corporation will be left to deal with the problem yourselves…and chances are, you're going to fail pathetically. Don't you know?" He paused while Jonas listened carefully, not at all affected by what the man was saying. "Don't you know that Christopher Johnson's going to be back in a month? He said he'd be back…and chances are he will be back. What that will mean for your corporation, I don't know…but I can tell you now that you're fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. You may be able to deal with this Lukas Farber problem, but you won't be able to deal with CJ's return and whatever help he might bring with him…"

"Leave my office," Jonas said sternly. He wasn't about to listen to the crap that Richard was delivering from out of his big mouth.

"I want you to think carefully about this decision, Jonas…"

"Get the fuck out of my office…_now_." Jonas spat the last word through clenched teeth, barely able to contain his anger. "Otherwise I'll call security. And I'll tell them to beat the shit out of you in the toilet block down the hall."

Richard didn't seem too flustered by this threat. Instead, he just shook his head, almost in pity of Jonas.

"You're making a mistake," he said, slowly turning around. Jonas watched him leave, not regretting a single thing he had said. Once the doors had closed and Richard was gone forever, Jonas slumped down in the seat at the desk and read the address that Richard had scribbled on the piece of paper.

The address was to a shack in District 9. It wouldn't take much for some MNU mercenaries to storm the place and arrest everyone inside. Jonas flicked a switch on the intercom, opening a line of communication to the man in charge of the mercenary forces here. His name was Fabian Felix, a reliable mercenary who had more or less replaced the late Koobus Venter.

"Colonel Felix?" Jonas asked, his tone grim. He had a hand at his forehead, rubbing it gently while he was still having some trouble comprehending the situation. Richard Houser was gone, thus releasing an immense load off of his mind. There was the current situation to deal with though, one that could lead to a full scale revolution.

"_Uh…this is Colonel Felix. What is it, sir?"_ Felix's slightly accented voice filtered through the speaker, tinged with uncertainty.

"I need you to organize a large force to enter District 9 and proceed to a certain address," Jonas said, "It's Shack E10, in the South-eastern section of the district. Not only that, but I want much of this large force dedicated to the task of tracking down every 'female' prawn in the district and executing them. And to top it off, I want a search carried out to find every prawn egg so they can be destroyed in the usual manner."

Jonas had to be sure the problem was removed. There was no telling how many females Lukas had gained access to so far. Colonel Felix, on the other hand, sounded a bit unsure of the whole plan.

"_Are you sure, sir? Such an operation could take hours…"_

"I don't care!" Jonas snapped, sending Felix silent. "I want every available man put on the job! I want that district clear of females and eggs by the end of the day! Is that understood?"

_"Uh…Yeah. Yes, sir, I mean…I'll get right onto it."_

Jonas depressed the button on the intercom and sat back in his seat. For some reason he was feeling quite confident that things would work out. Richard was gone so he couldn't screw things up anymore than he had. MNU would be free to deal with the situation themselves and perhaps far more efficiently as a result.

* * *

Lukas Farber was both uncertain and terrified. Here he was, standing in a completely familiar neighbourhood, forced to stay out of sight of pedestrians and passing cars as he made his way past the typical suburban homes to a house he knew well. With him was the young prawn, Faith, and she had so far convinced herself that Lukas was her father. She would often call him "father" now much to the ex-human's chagrin. The thing that annoyed Lukas the most and always reminded him of what he had turned into was the fact that he probably did resemble her father. Lukas was just a somewhat darker and burlier prawn, one who was not only terrified of what his human wife and daughter would think of him but also guilt-ridden of what he had done the night before.

Crouched behind a parked car, Lukas took in his surroundings. It had been somewhat dangerous leaving the district for it was very likely he would be shot or at the very least arrested if he was caught in a suburban area such as this. Faith was standing nearby, staring at her reflection in the car's silver hub-cap and tapping it with one claw in a curious manner.

Lukas kept telling himself that what he had done with Iris had been to help their race. That had been most of the reason and not all of it, something he would have preferred to have been true. There was the part of the reason that he had done it just for his own satisfaction and it was the alien part of his mind that was reminding him of this. He was a prawn and logically he would be attracted to other prawns, something that had been proven because he had been strangely attracted to Iris. She had been the one to make the move on him though, believing that if he wasn't going to help the Popleekwa then her offspring would. She just needed him to pass the leader genes onto said offspring and chances are the prawns would be free in a generation. Lukas was now free to do as he pleased, forced to grow accustomed to life as a prawn. And now he was forced to live with that guilty feeling on his conscience, the one that told him that he had cheated on his loving wife…and yet at the same time he hadn't.

Last night he had been quite determined to see his wife and daughter. That was why he had taken the trouble to head all the way out here, to one of the suburban areas of the city where prawns were not allowed to enter. He was desperate to see Katherine, even if she would not be able to recognize him. He wanted to tell her that he was alright, that he was still alive but that he might not be able to live with her anymore. He wanted to tell her that he still loved her, even if she might not love him anymore. If she didn't love him he would understand and would return to the district to live out the rest of his days, probably ending up together with Iris. It was funny how things played out in the end, he thought. Not once during his life had he even considered the notion of falling in love with a prawn. And yet, it had happened…and he certainly hated to admit it. He was a prawn too though so it only made sense. The transformation had indeed altered part of his mind, perhaps changing some of his perceptions of things. His sense of smell was powerful, almost overwhelmingly so: he could make out a single faint scent amongst the hundreds, perhaps even thousands of them that were all around him. He could follow that one scent to its source. He could detect the pheromones from other prawns, instantly able to tell what they were feeling just by these pheromones. It was unnerving to think that the transformation had been so thorough, especially when it came to his reproductive organs. As he had discovered last night, those had changed somewhat…but they weren't utterly recognizable. Urinating while standing up was standard-practice, even for prawns like him.

Something that furthered his guilt was the fact that making love to Iris had been so pleasurable. Rather than do it just the once as he had originally intended, the pair had enjoyed it so much they had done three more times. At least it ensured that Iris would wind up pregnant, even if it left Lukas feeling guiltier than he had ever had before.

With his sharpened prawn eyesight Lukas could make out a few things he probably wouldn't have been able to had he been a human. A few houses down, across the street, was his house. It hadn't changed at all, save for the fact that there was only one car in the drive way and not two. His car was probably still in a parking lot at MNU headquarters downtown. This thought struck him as strangely funny and he would have laughed had he known how. He still didn't know how to smile in his new form.

Lukas decided to quite stalling behind the parked car, seeing as the street was clear. There was only one human in sight: he was a man who looked to be in his thirties or forties, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt as he busily washed his car, rubbing its dirtied sections with a large sponge and covering the car with white foamy suds. Music blared from a portable radio set up nearby. He wasn't at an angle to see Lukas, even if the prawn decided to cross the street.

Lukas stood up and did just that, crossing the street quickly and carefully. Faith followed a few paces behind, chirping in annoyance at the sudden decision to move. She started walking alongside Lukas as he went down the footpath, arriving at the front drive-way of his home. Lukas turned to face his home, unable to see any movement through the windows. The sprinklers were on, spraying a fine continuous mist of water across the front lawn and creating a faint rainbow. Summing up as much bravery as he could, he started across the lawn. Water sprayed onto him, providing some cool refreshment from the warm heat of the day. What reaction awaited him from his wife and daughter was unknown but he was determined to see them. They were home, Katherine's car was parked on the drive-way.

Lukas was about halfway across the lawn when he heard a voice yell from behind, one that he had hoped to never hear again. It was a twisted, raspy voice, one that was filled to the brim with hatred.

"Turn around!" The voice demanded.

Lukas turned around slowly. Faith, meanwhile, looked up at him and managed to utter one comprehensible prawn word.

"Danger," she said simply.

Lukas froze when he saw who it was, especially when he saw what changes had occurred to this person. Sarah Taylor had been a troubled woman to begin with but now…now she was completely deranged. The only human part of her was her left arm and shoulder, otherwise the rest of her had become completely "prawn". Lukas remembered having left her amongst the puddle of black alien fluid back at the wreck of the train days before, having thought that would have been the last he saw of her. Obviously he had been mistaken. Sarah's clothing was torn and dirty, as if she had been through hell and back just to get here. Somehow Lukas had failed to detect her following him from the district…unless she had been lying in wait nearby, just waiting for him to pay a visit to his family. Seeing her again in the deranged mostly-transformed state she was in, Lukas felt terror strike at his very heart. He stood his ground, even when he saw the Beretta pistol she held in her remaining human hand.

"I've been…waiting…for…you…" Sarah said, taking a step forward and onto the lawn. Her voice was weak, almost croaky. Most of her head had transformed, providing the odd occurrence of having a human voice come out of the mouth of a prawn.

Lukas didn't react. He didn't know how, for starters. Seeing Sarah like this…She was determined to enact revenge on Lukas for what he had done to her. It hadn't really been his doing…Sarah had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Sarah…" Lukas began but was interrupted.

"Don't try talking me out of this," Sarah said, angered pheromones wafting off of her body. "I've come to kill you…and then I'm going to kill myself. I'll do anything to stop myself from becoming…becoming…a fucking…prawn…"

"Just let me see my family first," Lukas said. He didn't care much abut death now, especially when it seemed inevitable. As long as he was allowed to see Katherine and his daughter, Lyssa, once more…

"Fuck you," Sarah said simply, barely considering the notion. She pulled the trigger and Lukas felt something hot hit him in the chest, sending a powerful stinging pain through him. He stumbled backwards, stunned.

The gunshot was loud enough to get the attention of the man washing his car across the street. Seeing what had happened, he was immediately talking into his mobile phone, demanding that the police arrive here immediately.

Lukas swallowed, trying to ignore the agony that was in his chest. It was as if a hot metal poker had been stuck into him and spun around. Putting a claw to where he had been shot he felt thick black blood, much of it.

Turning around, he started walking towards the front door of his house. He needed to see his wife, his daughter, the family cat…he needed to see all three of them. Sarah could kill him but she wouldn't deny him his last wish to see his family again. Even as he walked he could feel his strength ebbing away, each step becoming more difficult than the last. Faith plodded along behind him, frightened by the noise but far more concerned about his wellbeing.

Lukas ignored her. Sarah fired again, the bullet slamming into his lower back. Lukas groaned and fell onto his knees, mere metres before the front door. As he fell the door opened and there stood Katherine, his wife, dressed in her usual casual attire. She stood with a look of shock on her face upon seeing the prawn crawling along the ground towards her, as well as the one that was standing on the lawn holding a gun.

"I said I'd kill you," Sarah said, her voice tinged with hatred. She fired again, this round hitting the fallen prawn in the upper back, just below the neck. Lukas slumped forwards, his gaze on Katherine as he struggled to gather the strength to move, reaching out with one arm in a vain attempt to touch her. With his other he reached into a pocket in his tattered trousers, removing the photo he had of him and his wife and his daughter (who clutched the family cat in her arms), all of them smiling into the camera as if they hadn't a care in the world. He held it out to her but could barely manage the effort. With one more effort he pushed himself a little further along the lawn.

Lukas turned around, watching as Sarah stepped forwards, pistol raised. Katherine stood in the doorway, unsure on how to react. Carefully, Lukas rose to his feet, trying to ignore the pain in his back and in his chest. He put a hand to the wound at his chest, trying to stem the blood-flow.

Sarah was certainly dazed, enduring the painful final stages of the transformation. She went to fire her pistol once more but was overcome with sheer agony as more of her human flesh broke away at her back, allowing the prawn exoskeleton to erupt through. She screamed and fell to her knees, momentarily lowering her weapon.

Lukas, using his last reserves of strength, lunged towards her. She looked up and saw him coming, raising her pistol. Lukas hit her and knocked her into the ground, just as the gun went off. The bullet went wide and Lukas found himself with Sarah lying below him, furiously trying to push him off of her. He pulled the pistol out of her grip and slammed the butt-end of it into her face, repeating this several times until the hybrid had stopped moving. Black blood coated his claws as Lukas stood up, trying his best to wipe the blood off onto his vest. He turned around, his eyes meeting with Katherine's.

Relief set in as he approached, ignoring Faith's worried chirps as he bled from his back and his chest. Lyssa, his daughter, was standing by Katherine in the doorway. She was only five, yet the look in her eyes implied that she already knew just who the prawn standing in front of her was. Carefully, Lukas thrust the photo he had of them all together into his wife's hands…the photo of when he was still human. Lyssa seemed to take a step back, as if frightened, hiding behind her mother. Katherine peered down at the photograph and then towards Lukas, trying to work out just what was happening…

And then it clicked. A tear rolled down Katherine's cheek while Lukas carefully held out one claw, directing it to Lyssa. Slowly, her mother gently nudged her forwards and she seemed to get the message. Lukas could feel his strength leaving him as he stood there and knew then that he was bleeding to death. Carefully, Lyssa planted her smaller hand in his outstretched claw. Lukas gripped it tightly, trying to work out if he could smile in his alien form. As far as he knew, he could still cry.

He held her hand for what seemed like an eternity, trying to get across the message: _Everything's going to be fine._ Deep down, he knew it would not be fine. As much as he would have preferred, it was unavoidable for his wounds to get the better of him. He released his grip on his daughter's hand and slumped against the side of the doorway, leaving a trail of sticky black blood after him. Katherine went onto her knees and held him, but by then it was too late.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Very difficult to write an end for this: there were a number of different ones I had planned, but all of them usually involved Lukas dying in some way or another. The two I actually wrote was the one used and another, longer one that explains what happens to Iris and Wikus but I decided that in that ending it was a case of "Ending Fatigue": Writing anything after Lukas' death was just unnecessary. The ending included is the one I like better, with no unnecessary bits after it. I prefer to leave Wikus and Iris' fates unspecified.

Anyway, thanks for reading.


End file.
